


Land of Fog and Fear

by Leticheecopae



Category: Homestuck, Silent Hill
Genre: Angst, Blood, Horror, Other, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 111,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leticheecopae/pseuds/Leticheecopae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dad goes to his and John's hometown of Silent Hill to finish off some of his late mother's finances, a series of freak storms leave John unable to contact him. After a few weeks with nothing but a single letter from his father, John decides to take a weekend off of college and go in search of his father, Dave in tow. They don't make it far into the town before a crash leaves them separated, hurt, and confused. It doesn't take them long to figure out that they aren't the only ones stuck in Silent Hill, or that the town has been ravaged by more than just storms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome To Silent Hill

**Author's Note:**

> This link will take you to the Silent Hill town map which will be used by John and Dave throughout the story.  
> http://www.hbhud.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Silent_Hill_Town_Map_by_thorcx.jpg
> 
> As always sorry for any grammar or other mistakes, I do my best to keep them out but they have a bad habit of sneaking by me.

You don't remember it being like this, and at first, you think you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. The air is too thick with fog for early autumn and the asphalt is cracked all to hell, making the car shake as you drive. Dave shifts next to you, probably squinting through his shades to try and see through the gloom. It's dark enough with the fog to be past five, but the clock says it’s barely two. Dave's iPod is playing Celine Dion softly. You lost the radio over an hour ago.

 

"Really happy place, John," Dave mutters as he looks out the window. He turns his head at an awkward angle to try and see straight up. "Can definitely feel all the happy childhood memories flooding in. Making me all warm and fuzzy just imagining you playing catch with your Dad out here, ball smashing you in your face."

 

"Shut up, Dave," you mumble, eyes focused on the road. "I think we're lost. This can't be the place." Dave doesn't say anything, just picks up the map. You keep watching the shadows of trees pass by, the fog mostly obscuring them and forcing you to slow down. You're barely going twenty. "The fog was never this bad off the lake. Maybe we're on the other side. Shepherds Glen maybe? Dad always did say that town had tr-"

 

"Pretty sure we're in the right place ,Egderp," Dave interrupts and gestures to the side of the road. You still don't get how his eyesight can be so good with those damn shades. Maybe you should get your prescription checked. About time you did. Ever since you moved out shit like that has been harder to keep track of. Your Dad had always set up appointments for you.

 

"Welcome to Silent Hill," Dave says in his most lackluster voice. "Home of the bustling Toluca lake theme park where Robbie the Rabbit will gladly fuck you up the ass for a smile."

 

"Shit, Dave, leave Robbie out of this."

 

"Dude, rabbits fucking creepy." Dave folds up the map again. "Even you admit to crying around the thing."

 

"I was like, four, Dave."

 

"Kids know when shits not right, John. You knew he was a creepy fuck then, know it now. Not all bunnies are good, and that is one bunny that needs to be shoved back in its box and left in the trunk. Maybe add a few chains and locks just to be sure." 

 

You snort but inwardly agree. Robbie is fucking creepy. 

 

You drive a short while longer in silence as you both stare through the fog. Shifting in your seat, you glance down at the letter stuffed in the cupholder. You can just barely see your Nana’s address printed at the top as the return address. You don’t need to see the carefully written words anymore, you’ve practically got the thing memorized, and what it says isn’t good.

 

_Dear John,_

_It is taking longer to close Nana’s estate than I originally thought. Cell towers are down thanks to the storms, and the phone lines are still down as well. I will make sure to keep you updated via post as much as possible, though with some of the roads being out I am not sure how well that will work. I will send a letter every week to keep you up to date._

_Hope this letter finds you well and that you and Dave will be coming back for Thanksgiving. Keep getting good grades son, I'm so proud of you._

_Love,  
Dad_

_P.S. Did you boys get your care packages?_

 

The letter had shown up over three weeks ago at your dorm. There had been no other contact since then. Dave had been trying to assure you the mail service was just having issues getting out, all the northern storms flooding out whole towns, Silent Hill included. When the weather had cleared and still no word you had decided to skip a Friday worth of class and head out to find your Dad. Dave had thrown in with you.

 

“Hey, legally he’s my Dad too,” he had said with a wink.

 

“He’s your Dad, legal or not.” You had jostled each other, thrown bags in the car, and taken off.

 

You grip the wheel tight and try not to think about the letter. A fat lot of good that does you. Your eyes keep darting to it, lingering.

 

Not for the first time you think you should have gone to help him. Nana had been his only family beside you. You have no idea where your mother is or if she’s even alive, and neither does he. He had come back to your childhood home to bury his mother alone for all you know. You hadn't even asked if she had had any friends besides her hospice worker. 

 

You never really cared.

 

"Hey, John."

 

You could have come, your teachers would have understood.

 

"John dude slow down."

 

Kept him company and made sure he didn't have to be alone while burying Nana.

 

"John watch the fucking road!" 

 

It's the panic in Dave's voice that finally gets you to snap out of it. You barely register that you’re going fifty and that there is something large looming up out of the fog. You think you see gray stone, but you can’t be sure as you swerve hard, going around it and trying to gain control. The wheel has a mind of its own and rips out of your hand. You hear Dave swear next to you. 

 

He grabs your arm as you hit something, a low wall? The car jackknifes as Celine's voice turns to a roaring static. You go weightless. 

 

The world is slow motion as you look over at Dave. His shades seem to be floating off his nose. He cracks a smile that makes your gut wrench. He starts talking as the car begins to come down.

 

"Welcome home, Egber-"

 

The car rams something, your head hits the steering wheel, and the world goes black.

 

\------  
_"She was nothing but a filthy whore leaving you with him."_

_You don't like the yelling._

_"Mother please."_

_You don't like Daddy being sad. All you can see is cream colored walls, and hear the yelling._

_You want it to stop._

 

\---

 

It's much too warm beneath the afghan. The scratchy wool is up to your chin, covering everything as you blink up at the blurry ceiling. It takes you a moment to realize your glasses are missing. Shifting, you try and look for them and a dull ache throbs behind your eyes. 

 

“Fuuuck,” you groan as you go back to lying still.

 

"Back in the land of the living, are we my boy?" The voice makes you jump and stifle another moan of pain as you force yourself to turn your head. There is someone moving on the other side of the room, bustling about before coming close; a man. He hands you your glasses before helping you sit up and you slip them on. The world spins, and the best you can do is look at him out of your peripheral vision as you focus on your knees. Once you can actually sit up and turn towards him you find that his hair is all salt and pepper, but mostly salt and is rumpled much like your own. His clothing makes you think of those British shows you sometimes stumble upon when you’re bored in the dorm, and he has a wide smile on his wrinkled face.

 

"Thought I was going to lose you there for a little while, what with you and that blonde fellow stumbling out of the woods like you did." He has you sitting up almost fully, head spinning as he helps you swing your legs over the side of what seems to be a couch before leaning you against the backrest. "Still amazed he could move like he was with that bump on his head and arm like it was. Quite a bit of spirit in that one." 

 

It’s hard to listen to him. You feel like you’re gonna puke, and he must realize it because he is shoving a bucket into your hands just before you wretch up bile and pieces of what must be left of the shitty fast food from earlier.

 

"Get it all out," he says soothingly, rubbing your back while you continue to wretch into the plastic receptacle. "There's a good lad, nothing wrong with letting out the bad." And you do, wave after wave of nausea flooding through you before you can finally take in a breath without it making your stomach role. 

 

“Wh-where’s Dave,” you pant out as you look around the room. He isn’t in there with you, and when you look up at the old man he is smiling sadly. You find yourself staring up into his eyes; a deep green that is slowly yellowing due to cataracts and age.

 

“He’s fine,” the man tells you as he continues to rub your back soothingly. “Just have him in the bed. Was a bit more banged up than you I’m afraid, though we got him nice and patched. He’s taking a nice rest now.” 

 

The news makes your chest loosen some, though you still find yourself feeling dizzy. A few deep breaths later and you feel at least somewhat human. You shift around where you sit, feel patches of pain, but nothing horrible. You can see bruises on your arms, feel like you’ve been hit with a rod over your chest, and know you have a lovely bruise thanks to your seat belt. Your hips feel bruised as well, and when you look at your leg you can see it has been wrapped in gauze. Even so, it feels like you can stand.

 

“Can I see him?” Your voice is still shaking, but at least you can tell now there isn’t anything broken.

 

“Of course,” he says softly and helps you stand, eyes flicking to the injury. “And don’t worry about that, it's nothing more than a bad a scratch.” You hiss when you put weight on the leg.

 

 _‘That feels like more than just a scratch.’_ You’re going to be limping for a while, are already limping as he leads you out of the small living room. 

 

“Come on, that’s a good lad.” He leads you down the hall to a door that is partially opened. While helping you stand, he pushes the door open. What you see makes you let out a small whine.

 

“Oh shit, Dave,” you breath and pull away from the man. He lets you go as you limp to the bed, hand hovering over Dave’s arm. He has a nasty looking bruise on his head and small cuts all over his face. He also has an afghan pulled over him, the only thing on the bare bed. The pillow under his head looks like it’s meant more for decoration than use.

 

“He told me the airbag cover gave him a good smack to the head.” 

 

It’s hard not to jump when the man starts talking. “That you knocked yourself out on the wheel when you hit a tree. It’s a damn miracle he didn’t have a concussion, same with you.”

 

You give him a confused look. 

 

“I checked you both out when he brought you in, though I dare say you won’t remember it. If you had I wouldn’t have let either of you sleep with a concussion.”

 

“So he’s going to be okay?” You put your hand on his shoulder. It feels swollen like it was badly hurt. 

 

“He’ll be fine,” the man says. He takes you gently by the shoulder and turns you towards the door. “For now your friend just needs to rest. He has a bad arm and was exhausted by the time he got you here.” You go with him, looking one last time over your shoulder to see Dave. The old gentleman leads you down the hall, back through the living room, and into a kitchen. On the way, you realize that everything in the house is covered in dust sheets and the main light is from the dim sunlight coming through the fog filled windows, a couple of battery powered lamps, and a few candles.

 

“What time is it?” you ask as he sits you down at the kitchen table.

 

“About seven I think.” He looks at his watch. “You boys slept through the night, thank goodness, though I thought you were both going to wake up multiple times. Seems that crash gave you both night terrors.” He pushes the button on some sort of kettle before sitting down with a slight groan. “Kept me up half the night going back and forth.”

 

“Sorry,” you say softly and look up at him then around the kitchen. It is barren except for a box and the kettle. “You just move in or...” 

 

He gives a laugh. “No no, just ended up here. This old church is one of the last few standing structures out here. I’m guessing the priest headed out when things got bad, not that I can blame him. He’s a good fellow, though, so I doubt he’ll mind that I’ve been squatting. I’ve been bringing over things from my ranch the last few days, doing my best to salvage what I can. Had a couple of large trees fall on my roof, and even if some of the rooms are intact, it’s much drier here.” He reaches into the loose jacket he is wearing, a deep green one over his brown button up shirt, and from it, he pulls a small pipe and bag of tobacco. You watch him pack the bowl. It’s a comforting movement; one you’ve seen your Dad complete multiple times.

 

“Going to sell what I can of my old trophies and that old place before I ship off for the last great adventure.” He tucks the tobacco pouch back into his coat. “Would leave the land to family if I had any left, but I’ll take what it gets me and head off to Africa for one more go.” He lights the pipe and takes a few puffs, the smell of sweet tobacco smoke filling the room. “Though with how the town seems to be faring now, I doubt those old acres will fetch me enough for a plane ticket.” 

 

You nod, only half listen as you stare out the window over the sink and think about the bruise on Dave’s head. Despite knowing he’s had worse you’re still worried. Concussion or not, you doubt the strifes he had been in as a kid can be compared to a car accident. 

 

“So what about you my boy?” The direct question makes you jump as he pats the table to draw your attention back. 

 

“John,” you say back instead. This man calling you ‘his boy’ rubs you the wrong way for some reason. “My name's John.” 

 

He nods and lifts his hand to shake yours.

 

“English, Jake English.” 

 

You shake his hand. It's surprising how good his grip is. When you pull away he leans back in his chair. 

 

“So John, what has you visiting this sorry little place?”

 

“My Dad’s gone missing.” The words make Jake’s eyebrow raise.

 

“Really now?”

 

“Yeah,” you run a hand through your hair. “He came up to set my Nana’s stuff to rights or whatever. She passed away about a month ago, right before those big storms.” Jake just nods, listening and waiting for you to continue as he puffs. “We lost contact about three weeks ago, no phone, text, e-mail, letters. It just all stopped. Dave and I thought it was because of the weather, but when we learned people were getting messages out we got worried, came up here.” You look out the window. “Maybe it wasn’t the best idea.”

 

Jake just nods and smokes, eyes looking past you as he sits thinking. After a few moments of you twiddling your thumbs and wondering if you should go back to Dave’s room he starts speaking again, voice much more thoughtful.

 

“I came back just a few days ago, thought I’d see what I could salvage of my ranch.” An almost perfect smoke ring comes from his mouth as he gestures to the window. “I found most of the streets are out and the winds took the power lines with them. The post-office was destroyed during the storms as well, so that might explain why you haven’t gotten anymore mail.” He looks at you with a smile, like this should make you feel better, but in reality, it just makes your stomach clench. “I bet he is doing just fine, probably up at your Nana’s house right now, holed up while he waits for this damned fog to clear out.” You nod gently and look back out the window. The fog looks a little lighter, but everything is still muted. A shrill whistle makes you jump.

 

“There we are,” Jake says and stands with a soft grunt before stepping over the kettle and pulling two mismatched mugs from the box. “Bit of tea should wake you up I bet. Get you feeling set to rights.” You watch him take two tea bags and drop them into the mugs. You want to tell him you don’t drink tea, but instead, you stay silent. In a few moments, he sets a mug in front of you, turns back to the box to pull out a little bag of mini-muffins, and then sits back down.

 

“So tell me now Jade, how-”

 

“John,” you correct as you reach for the offered muffins. Now that your stomach is empty you find that you are hungry. 

 

He blinks at you a moment before shaking his head a bit. 

 

“Yes, yes of course. Sorry about that. Old slip of the noggin.” The smile he gives you doesn’t quite seem sincere.

 

“Who’s Jade?” You pop a muffin into your mouth and then pick up the mug, even if it's just to let the heat seep into your hands, and do your best to lock your attention on Jake as you chew. The muffin is a bit stale, but still good.

 

“Just a young lass I once knew, no offense to you of course,” he says quickly. “You are most definitely a fine young man, but you have some striking similarities of face. Could be her brother.” The last bit comes out a bit wistful. Sad.

 

“Yeah...well,” you take a sip of the tea and wince. It tastes like bitter hot water and nothing else. “Do you think Dave will be okay when he wakes up? Or will wake up soon?” Jake looks at you a bit startled.

 

“Really I couldn’t tell you. With that bump on the head and dragging you down the path from the lookout, it’s anyone’s guess.” He takes a swig of tea and then exhales with a sigh of happiness. “You didn’t make it here till well past nightfall. I was still amazed he even found it here in all that fog.” 

 

“Dave’s got good instincts like that,” you reply, pop another muffin in your mouth, and then look out the window. Your hands are itching with the warmth from the mug and your foot bounces. You’re Dad is out there, somewhere. “Could Dave stay here if I left?” 

 

Jake’s eyebrows go up again and he sets the ceramic cup down gently.

 

“So eager to get back out into the world?” The look he gives you is both of concern and...pride. It's unnerving.

 

“I need to find my Dad, and if I can get to Nana’s house fast enough, I should be able to get back with him before nightfall. Get the three of us out of this place.” You stand and feel the ache in your leg. This Jake guy, even if he does give you the creeps, seems to know what he is doing. Besides, it could be awhile before Dave wakes up if your recuperation is any indication. It was just past two when you were knocked out, and now it’s past seven in the morning. Dave had gone through even more shit than you had and had fallen asleep only a few hours ago. It would be better to let him rest and go find your father yourself.

 

“A good plan my boy.” He waggles a finger at you and winks. “And of course I will watch your friend for ya. But first-” He stands again and you can tell that it is somewhat laborious for him to get up and down so much. “You will need a few things.” Shuffling back to the box he starts pulling out a few items. A flashlight, some protein bars, a bottle of water, and a map. He brings them to the table, setting them in front of you. “I would tell you to stick around for some more breakfast, but besides the muffins all I really have is some bread and my skillet, plus I can tell a boy with grit such as yourself is wanting to head off on his own adventure as soon as possible.” 

 

You just nod and look at the items. You should have enough room for the items in your cargo shorts. The only other thing on you is your phone and the pocket knife your father gave you for your fifteenth birthday. The one with _Happy Birthday, John_ engraved into it.

 

“Thank you, Mr. English,” you say as you slide open zippers and start putting items inside. The bars and water take up your two larger pockets on the left side, and the flashlight fills one of the others on the right.

 

“Call me Jake, lad,” Jake replies. “And don’t worry about it. Just bring you and your father back safe and sound and we will be even.” 

 

You open the map and look it over. Your Nana lived near the Lakeside Amusement park if you remembered correctly. 

 

“Where are we on here?” 

 

Jake comes around the table to look over the map. It takes him a moment before he points his finger near the bottom right corner. Dargento Cemetery it says. You shiver. Jake seems to notice. 

 

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to walk through it, just follow the fence to the gate and follow this path.” He points at a path leading away from the cemetery. “Follow it until you hit Sanders St., and don’t bother with Pleasant River Rd. The bridge went out during the storms.” 

 

You nod and look over the map. You need to get around the lake. 

 

“Is this road out?” You point at Nathan Avenue.

 

“Unfortunately, yes, the bridge was washed out there too. You need to get across the lake?” Jake studies the map as he asks.

 

“Yeah, Nana lived over here.” You point at Levin road and Jake hums. 

 

“Well then, you can always see if anything survived at the marina. He claps you on the shoulder as he says it, making you jolt. “The best of luck to you.” His hand seems to linger much too long. 

 

“Yeah...” you say and shrug it off as gently as possible. “Thanks.” Folding the map back up you tuck it into your pocket. “I guess I should be going now.” 

 

Jake smiles and nods.

 

“Right you are, time for you to go on your own adventure.” Jake walks back over to the box and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen before handing them to you. “You may want to leave your friend a note before you go. I doubt I can stop him if he goes after you.” You take the items and nod. He’s right, and it scares you a bit that he already understands that much about Dave. You jot down a quick note before standing and nodding at Jake. He nods back.

 

“I’ll be back tomorrow at the latest,” you say as you turn to head out of the kitchen. Jake follows you.

 

“Alright then my boy.” Jake sounds oddly jovial. “But one last thing.” 

 

You turn to watch him open a tall cupboard and pull a large hammer out of it. It looks almost like a miniature sledgehammer, the length about that of your forearm, and when you take it you are surprised at the heft. “Can’t go on an adventure without a weapon now can you.” The smile he gives you makes your mouth go dry.

 

“No,” you say softly and look down the hallway that leads to Dave’s room. “I guess you can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Save Game Data


	2. Chapter 2

It's colder than you thought it would be outside, what with the sun barely being up and the cool fog wrapped around everything, and the last gift Jake gave you is welcome. Its an old jacket, one he said he used to wear in his boyhood; bright green with patches on the elbows. It's a bit big on you but better than nothing against the reaching tendrils of fog. The hammer is tucked into your belt, easily accessible and ready for...well anything you guess.

 

You can barely see the gravestones peeping through the fog at you, sliding in and out of focus as you go down the steps. They aren’t something you want to deal with, so you do as Jake said and follow the fence. It only takes you a few minutes before you reach the gate. It’s old and squeaks horribly when you push it open, parts of it bent and rusted, and the storm had decorated it with pieces of debris. Stepping onto the path, you let it swing shut behind you with a grating yowl that makes you grit your teeth. You think you hear a dog bark from the trees and maybe a growl as you step away and quickly stop. You touch the hammer’s head as you search the shadows, but nothing happens. Taking a deep breath you hold it a moment before letting it out with a shudder.

 

Looking over your shoulder at the closed gate, you think about Dave and wonder if Jake will really take care of him like you asked. You don’t dwell on it long. Unconscious or not, Dave will always be better at taking care of himself than you ever will. He had practically taken care of himself until he was thirteen. When he had moved in with you and Dad after Bro’s death it had been amazing how self-sufficient he already was, though it was a little sad.

 

You wish he was with you now.

 

“See you later, Dave.” You start walking. Dave will be fine, it's your Dad who needs you now. The dirt path makes slight squelching sounds under your shoes as you walk up the path. As you go, you pass a sign that says ‘Silent Hill Ranch’ in big bold letters. As you walk past you hear more growls and things shuffling, but you can’t see anything behind the fence but a few light flickers in the fog.

 

“Probably just some stray dog,” you mutter to yourself before continuing up the path. When you hit Pleasant River Road, your feet echoing loudly over the asphalt, you know that Jake was telling you the truth about the roads. The river is more like a chasm now with the broken concrete disappearing into a dark water. It makes it look deeper than anything else you’ve ever seen. You keep going. 

 

You follow the paved walking path that leads off the road and along the stream, careful of the edge next to the river. It looks like parts of it are already falling in, and you have no desire to fall into that water. An eerie quiet settles around you. There are no birds, no insects, almost as if the fog is a blanket meant to keep everything muted.

 

You tug the jacket around you a bit tighter, eyes darting about as you try to keep your heart rate from flying to your throat. “Geez, no wonder they named this place Silent Hill.” You don’t gather any humor from your joke, so instead you try to rationalize it. 

 

“The birds are probably just staying away from the damage, same with the insects. Either that or they drowned.” The fragile logic does little to keep you from wanting to jog down the path to get out of the woods, you even force yourself to stop and take a piss off the side of the path to try and show yourself you have more courage than you think. It does little to help ease your worry.

 

At a fork in the path, you go left, leaving the river behind and heading straight through the woods. From there it is only a short walk before you reach another street. As you step onto the road you find a flower shop before you, old and decrepit; or at least you think it is. Maybe it's just wind and water damage. Pulling out your map you look it over. 

 

You need to get to Nathan Avenue and right now you’re on Sanders. After a moment you find that you need to move one block West and two blocks North. Returning the map to your back pocket, you turn your feet towards the end of the block and start walking again. The town is even worse than the forest, your footsteps seeming to be muffled even with all the crap you step on. The streets are littered with debris and more than once you have to sidestep glass. Many of the shops are boarded up, and in a few moments, you find yourself at an impasse. Just after Katz street, the road is out, and by out you mean utterly obliterated. You can’t even tell how deep it is with how much water has accumulated, and the caved in concrete spreads all the way across the road, threatening to take the shops around it down into its maw.

 

“Fuck.” The word echoes a bit and you jump. 

 

Pulling out your map again you look for another way. You shift on your feet and hear something besides the souls of your shoes scraping concrete.

 

“What the hell?” You strain hard to listen but the sound doesn’t repeat. You could have sworn…

 

“Pull it together Egderp,” you say to yourself as you look through the fog. “Been out for only an hour and you’re already going nuts.” With a look over street names you come up with a new path and start walking again down Katz street. “What would Dave say about being so uncool?” You chuckle to yourself, and this time when you think you hear something you chalk it up to the fog playing tricks on you. In your pocket, you feel your phone vibrate. Startled, you shove your hand in and pull it out to stare at its face, but what you see makes no sense. There is no name, no number, just gibberish as it vibrates frantically. You slide your finger over it, trying to answer, but nothing happens, and when you switch it to ringer you shut it off just as fast. The sound is just too high pitch and static, sounding nothing like any of the ringers you have programmed. The vibrating fades after a few moments.

 

“Well, that was weird.” The words get swallowed by the fog.

 

Neely street is a no-go, the ground just as destroyed as it had been at the intersection of Lindsey and Katz, only with rusty looking bits of metal sticking out of the dark water this time. Sighing, you decide to just keep going straight. One of these cross streets had to be passable. Taking a few steps from the hole you stop as movement catches your eye. There, just inside the window of the _Happy Jade Restaurant_. The door looks like it got blown off its hinges, the fog having moved its way inside and turning the dark silvery. 

 

“Hello?” you call out and touch your hammer. Nothing answers, but you see the movement again. “Hey, can you give me a hand.” You start to walk towards the door when your phone starts vibrating again. You tug it out only to be faced with the jumbled title again. The movement in the door jerks your attention back to it and you shove the phone into your pocket. “Hello?” It fails to answer. 

 

“I can see you in there.” God your voice sounds strained. “I just need some help, can you tell me-” There is a high pitched giggle just inside the door.

 

“Need some help!” A high pitch voice mimics. You step back reflexively and slide the hammer out without thinking. “Help, help, help, help.” The voice is achingly shrill and sing-song.

 

“C-cut it out will ya,” you call. “That’s fucking creepy.” The phone in your pocket is going nuts.

 

“Cut, cut, cut it out. Creepy creepy.” 

 

Something moves into the doors opening. You hear the slightest jingle of bells, though they sound duller than anything else; dull and broken. It clicks that it was what you had heard, or imagined you heard, just a few minutes ago. Now you have something to connect the sound to, and you really, really wish you didn’t. 

 

The thing that comes out of the fog has no eyes, just a large mouth with too many teeth pulled back in the most horrific smile you have ever seen. It’s wearing what must have been bright colors at one point, but now they are tattered and dirty, the colors muted and stained in brown and rust. It's totally black and only about four feet tall. It’s the creepiest thing you have ever had the displeasure of seeing.

 

It takes one step towards you, the bell on the toe of its curled shoe ringing a warning.

 

“What the fuck,” you whisper and step back.

 

“Cut, cut-” The smile never moves as the voice slips out between the teeth. Something next to it flashes. You barely get to register the knife before it’s moving. “Cut you out.” It launches itself at you at the same time you swing your hammer up. The heavy end smashes into its face as the blade comes down, whistling by your arm as it stumbles. You swing again when it looks up at you with that eyeless face, and the hammer connects with its grin. It goes flying back with a crash into the restaurant. Panting, you stare at the open door and listen with your hammer still poised to swing.

 

“Oh shit, oh shit,” you whisper over and over again. Something black and oily is dripping off your hammer and is splattered all over the ground. There is some on your shoe, and you drag your shoes against the asphalt to try and get it off. 

 

“The fuck was-”

 

“Cut, cut, cut you out.” There is movement from inside and the flash of metal. Your phone feels like it is going to buzz right through your leg. Behind you, there is the slightest jingle.

 

You run.

 

\-----

 

_The phone won’t stop ringing. You don’t fucking care anymore you’re not picking it up again. Once was fucking enough for you. They only need to tell you once._

_Three to the chest and one to the head, come on down and see the man full of holes, only fifty cents and a lifetime of regrets._

_Nope, no thank you._

_There is a knock on your door._

_“Dave Strider, we need you to come down to the station with us.”_

_Fuck._  
\-----

 

You wake up to muted light and silence. Your shoulder is aching like a son of a bitch and for a bare second you think you’re back in the apartment after one particularly bad strife. The only thing missing is the smell of three-week-old laundry and stale pizza. Instead, it just smells like dampness and dust. You shift your shoulder and it wakes you up pretty damn fast. 

 

“Fuunnnn-” Gritting your teeth you count to three. It isn’t the worst pain you’ve ever had, but that doesn’t make it very pleasant to wake up to.

 

Sitting up fully, you look around the room and feel the world tilt for a moment. There is a slight pounding behind your left eye. Squinting, you reach up to adjust your shades, only then registering their not on your nose. Panic sets in for only a second before you find them on the otherwise empty side table next to the bed. As soon as you slip them on you feel a fraction calmer and the pounding recedes. You get your back up against the headboard and rest a moment. All of you aches and you’re not sure you want to look under the blanket and see why. 

 

“Might as well see the damage,” you murmur after a few minutes. You lift up the afghan that has been keeping you warm and wince at what you find. One of your jeans is torn just below the knee, stained red with white peaking out. The other one is still intact but bulging around the ankle. Both of your forearms are wrapped in bandages underneath the hole filled sleeves. Your head throbs and you close your eyes.

 

_“John, John. Fuck dude this is no time for one of your nerdy ass pranks, answer me you piece of shit!” You know you aren’t supposed to move him, but you’re both upside down and he isn’t moving. You undo your seatbelt and hit the roof with a thunk. The sound is accompanied by a pop in your already aching shoulder and it's hard not to scream. Getting up your check his neck, spine, and find no visible injury besides a few bruises._

 

“Well, fuck.” The words come out a bit shaky as your brain catches up with the rest of you. You remember the old guy, Jake. That was his name, right? He had pulled the glass out of your arms from breaking out the windows. 

 

After the crash, you had pulled John out of the car, grabbed your iPhone, both of your glasses, and then threw him on your back as well as you could with a dislocated shoulder. It had been dark when you entered the woods, and you don’t really remember getting to the house. You just remember following the path and a light; a light like a small sun hopping from branch to branch...but that wasn’t right. You had just seen it in the house’s window.

 

“Yo, Mr. English.” You stand with the barest tilt. Next to the side of the bed are your shoes. Both are covered in small flecks of blood. You slip them on with your left hand and head for the hall. The world tilts again, but you expect it this time. It can’t be anything too serious if you have your memories from last night. You should have a concussion from the crash, but you got lucky somehow; probably just used to getting hit in the head. Doesn’t mean you don’t feel a bit scrambled.

 

As you step into the hallway you hear nothing. Looking both ways you find no movement, no sign of life. There is the slightest sound from the opposite side of the hall, though, a rustle, and you follow it. The door is only a few feet away from the bedroom, is slightly ajar, and when you push it in rest of the way in you find a short hallway. Tentatively you follow it, staying close to the wall as you listen to the sound grow steadily. At the other end is an opening that leads into a large room. What you find has your eyes going wide. 

 

You’re in a church, an old one, made of stone with wooden pews scattered all over. Stain glass is strewn everywhere, dusting the ground with color, though you’re not too interested in that. You’re more interested in what’s sitting in the pews.

 

Weapons and a plethora of random crap is strewn everywhere. Swords, knives, guns. Everything and anything. 

 

Bro would have loved it.

 

Shaking your head, you take a few steps in before picking up a sword, unwittingly trying to use your right arm and hissing when you do.

 

_”Alright lad, on the count of three. One Two.” You do your best not to scream as the bone goes back in the socket. Fucking seatbelts, thought they were supposed to protect you not cause more harm._

 

You shift the hilt to your left hand. The blade is similar to the one you used to have back home. The one you chucked in the...

 

You drop it and pick up another one, broader, heavier, still in a sheath connected to a belt. You don’t even think about it as you wrap it around your waist and cinch it. Something's wrong here and like hell you are going to be walking around unarmed. Your Bro taught you better than that. Besides, it's not like you can figure out how to get back to the road and get your own out of the trunk. John may still laugh at you for carrying the shitty renaissance faire sword around, but old habits die hard.

 

You think of taking something else, and in the end, snatch up a small side bag that hooks onto the belt with ease. Looking around one more time you note that a small chest is open on a pew, the indent of two guns sitting in oily satin. 

 

The fluttering sound comes again and you jerk your head towards it. It’s coming from behind one of the pews. You take a few steps forwards, seeing if maybe it’s a sheet in the wind. What you find are small drops of red and...are those feathers? You hear a shuffling noise just outside of your direct view, see something squirm. Jerking back you turn on your heel and head back to the hallway on quick feet. You shut it firmly and then lean against it. 

 

“Get it together, Strider,” you scold quietly before pushing off the door. It wouldn’t be the first hurt bird you‘ve seen. You just don’t want to see it.

 

“English,” you call to distract yourself, a question in your voice. There is still nothing and it doesn’t sit right with you. You make your way down the hall, hand on the hilt of the sword and it feels like the most natural thing. When you look into the living room you find the couch empty except for its dust cover and the old afghan you had helped cover John in. Your stomach drops faster than it had when you had swerved to miss that weird building.

 

“John?” There is no answer, just the slightest whistle of the wind and a pile of items on the living room’s coffee table; a few protein bars, a bottle of water, a flashlight that looks cop worthy, a map, a bag that holds a couple of mini-muffins, and two notes. You snatch up the one with John’s loopy scrawl the second you recognize it, sit down on the couch, and chew on a tough muffin while you read.

 

_dave,_

_heading to nana’s. she lives in the big blue house on levin street on the other side of the lake. going to get dad then come back and get you. knowing you as soon as you read this you’ll be dashing out to catch up. just don’t be too much of an ass, sit tight, and thank mr. english. if you do decide to be an ass and follow, don’t push yourself too hard like you usually do._

_i’ll stay at nana’s tonight when I get there, then come back to get you tomorrow. if you leave and don’t make it across the lake today then just come back and stay here and I’ll see you tomorrow._

_stay safe_

_john_

 

“Dumb ass, you should have waited.” You crumple up the note. Picking up the other one you don’t recognize the strange chicken scratch it's covered in. It takes a few moments before you can decipher the handwriting.

 

_Hello young lad._

_Afraid I couldn’t stick around till you woke. I have a few errands of my own to attend to on the ranch. If you’re going to go off after your friend there are weapons in the church. Take whatever you need, I doubt I will be needing them much longer._

_Take care of yourself out there my boy, for there are things wandering in the fog that should never see the light of day. I’m on the hunt for them, though, so hopefully by the time you find this your path will be clear. Godspeed to you young lad._

_J.H.English_

_Oh yes, will have to lock the doors to make sure nothing gets you, but I’m sure you can find a way out._

 

The note leaves you feeling uneasy as you look up towards the kitchen. After shoving the few items on the table into your side bag, you through the kitchen to the back door and turn the knob. It's broken, the knob turning but nothing clicking. Great.

 

“You really were a crazy old man.” You mutter and turn away from the door. The back of the church isn’t very big, and it’s quick work to check the living room and one bedroom. It’s no use finding a window to open, though, they’re all nailed shut. While you’re in the bathroom you relieve yourself in a toilet that holds no water and hope Jake won’t mind. 

 

You refuse to go back into the church. That much broken glass with windows that high and you’re going to be fucked. You doubt Jake would have left the front doors unlocked either.

 

When the realization hits that you may have to break a window you feel a bit bad. This Jake guy has taken care of you, least you can do is keep this piece of shit house in one piece though you don’t have much choice. Going back to the living room you try and decide which window to break when you notice one last door. It’s tucked in the corner, almost hidden by an old set of bookshelves. Shoving them out of the way with your good shoulder you give the doorknob a twist you almost expect some sort of storage closet. Instead, you find stairs leading down into a deep gray pit, the barest amount of light making its way inside. Instinctively you flick the light, but of course, nothing happens.

 

“Least Jake left me a light.”

 

Pulling out the flashlight you shine it down into the murk and see damp concrete at the bottom. With no more hesitation, you are a Strider for fuck sake, you head downstairs. The cellar is crammed full of stuff. Decorations for all sorts of holidays, broken furniture with sheets over it, stacks of old looking books, and other junk. It's got a U shape to it, the stairs at one end of it with a dividing wall of crap between you and the other side. Through the crap, you can barely see what looks like another entry way. Shutting off the flashlight you start walking, the other side of the basement having more light for you to see by. You hook the flashlight into your belt loop, the head pointing up and the butt of it thumping your thigh, but you don’t really mind. It’s a reassuring weight, just like the sword. You pat it.

 

“Piece like this and I bet I could get all Luke Skywalker up in here.” You yank the light from the belt loop with a jerk, flick it on, and make lightsaber noises as you do a jerking dance around the bend of crap.

 

The pretend lightsaber almost goes flying out of your hand when your phone starts making a sound like a million rain sticks going at once. Pulling the phone out you find the screen cracked and the backlight creating streaks of white. Cursing you try and answer it, but the touch screen isn’t doing shit, and you pray that if it's John you don’t freak him out by not answering. But the static just keeps coming as you try and shut it off. You end up tripping over something as you fiddle with your phone. You go to your knees for only a second before you’re back up, flashlight pointing into the shadows and phone held high and ready to become a wifi-compatible projectile. 

 

The opposite side of the junk is in full view, and you can tell that the opening is a set of stairs that lead to some sort of storm door. That isn’t what’s all that interesting at the moment, though, nope, what’s really got your attention is the fact that there is some sort of taxidermy corpse propped against the wall right in front of the steps.

 

It looks like a kid, with long black hair and leather like skin, wrapped in an old blue dress that is as dusty as the rest of it. It looks like it was lying down at one point from the posture, its hands balled at its side and feet not quite perfectly flat on the ground.

 

You pay little attention to your phone as you slip it back in your pocket. Dead girl in the cellar is way more interesting. She looks well taken care of, like she was preserved, and it's both terrifying and incredible. Preserving something like that takes a lot of work, and you should know. Trying to do a taxidermy squirrel last semester had been a pain in the ass, though you sure as fuck did a good job making that little dude look like a ninja.

 

“You were into some weird shit, weren’t you Jake.” You tentatively glance back at where you tripped and search. You had definitely felt something against your ankle, but there’s nothing there now. The static on your phone increases in volume. Something makes you jerk your head to look back at the taxidermy girl, and in turn, you almost bolt. There is some sort of doll at her feet, all long arms, and legs, soft looking but so fucking dirty. It looks like...but it can’t be... 

 

Lil Cal is six feet under. 

 

You take a few steps closer, eyes never leaving the thing. It's getting harder to ignore your phone, but you’re too confused to care about some bad background music. The closer you get the more your stomach clenches because this isn’t Cal, but it's so damn close. The things smile is so similar, the eyes more a dull gray than blue, and the round red cheeks are almost identical. It even has a little backward hat, only it's the wrong color. Cal’s was orange and blue, this thing is all dingy gray and red gone almost pink in places. You were wrong to assume it was Cal, even if it does have the same basic design. You’re a few yards from it, debating on picking it up and examining it. You blink for just a moment and it disappears. You freeze.

 

Did it just fucking flash step? Instinct tells you to dodge and you do, almost knocking into the stuffed girl against the wall, making her rock slightly as you turn. The puppet is hanging in the center of the hall, hanging from strands of thread that stick into the ceiling. Where you were just a moment ago you see a long needle that is suddenly jerked back out of the concrete where it was fucking embedded. You follow it as it disappears into to puppets outstretched hand.

 

 _Run._ You don’t know for sure where the voice comes from, but it sure as hell sounded like it came from the dead girl next to you. She doesn’t have to tell you twice. Turning to the stairs, you move to run up only to find the puppet is sitting halfway up the steps with its hand extended and stuffed grin mocking you.

 

The sword is out of its sheath and deflecting the needle out of pure instinct. The moment the needles are out of your way you turn the perry into a slice. It's clumsy, what with using your left hand, but it has the desired effect. The stuffed hand goes flying and the stitched mouth on the puppet goes down in a frown. Two steps up and you are swinging at it again, severing the head from its body. It flies past you, the gray eyes rimmed in red glaring as it falls down the stairs.

 

Your chest heaves a bit at you stare at the now headless enemy. The fuck is going on, the every living-

 

Instinct saves you again as you lob off the other arm as it darts up, and this time you just keep hacking. Small splatters of something blackish-red drip out between brown stuffing as you pulp the thing on the stairs. Each hack quiets your phone until it stops ringing, and you stop swinging. There is a cold sweat on the back of your neck as you gingerly step around the now hopefully dead doll. You stop only a few steps higher when you see the padlock.

 

“Fuck.” You reach out and shake it, hoping its just for show, but the thing holds fast. It is keeping the rather old, but sturdy, chain wrapped around the inner handles closed. 

 

“Now wh-” the tinging sound you hear makes you jerk around and listen, but there is nothing. The body is still on the stairs, looking for all intensive purposes like a used tampon. Instead of making yourself smile the idea grosses you out and you stay as far as you can from it as you make your way down the stairs; kicking the head off the last couple of steps. Once at the bottom, you scan the room. Nothing has moved that you can see.

 

Turning you look at the corpse and do not allow yourself to jump a third time. One of the hands that had been balled against its side is opened; claw-like. A key is lying at its feet. You stare at the corpse as you squat to pick the key up, eyes never leaving it. There are two glassy green eyes in its sunken face, staring unblinkingly at the other end of the room.

 

“Thanks,” you say softly as you stand and look down at the key. It looks as old as the lock. When you look back up you’re expecting the eyes to have moved, but they don’t; just keep staring down the length of the basement. You study her a bit more. She was about five foot, an overbite that could almost rival Egberts, and...is that a fucking hole in her chest? 

 

Above you, you hear the slightest thump. Tearing your eyes away from the dead girl you hurry to the top of the stairs and shove the key in the lock, turn it, and pull the chains away as fast as you can. As you throw the storm doors open wide the slightest amount of static starts and you dart out, taking the lock and chain with you. Slamming the wood shut, you wrap the handles and slide the lock home. When you step away from the door the static disappears.

 

You can feel yourself shaking as you walked away from the storm doors, eyes not leaving them until you bump into something. You spin fast and find a tombstone. Hell, you find a lot of tombstones. 

 

“I guess where there’s God there’s death.” You had meant it as a joke. It really doesn’t feel like one outside your head.

 

Walking around the one you bumped into, you walk between them, wandering away from the church. Turning down one aisle you notice a mound of dirt. Morbid curiosity gets the better of you, helping you to not think about what the fuck just happened, and you welcome it gratefully. Stepping around the mound you find a freshly dug up grave, the casket cracked open and empty. You look at the name.

 

 _Jade Harley. Beloved Daughter and Granddaughter. May your death be your greatest adventure._ The dates tell you she was only thirteen years old. 

 

“Damn.” You whisper before standing and tossing a glance to the church. “Sorry kid.” 

 

You step away from the grave and walk towards what looks like a gate through the fog. As you go, something catches your eye as the graves thin out. You can just barely make out something orange. It's sitting on top of one of the graves, the name on the other side, facing away from you. Two steps towards it tells you it's a hat, and in seconds you have gone way more than two steps back, heading for the gate. Looking over your shoulder you watch the orange get swallowed up by the fog.

 

“The fuck kind of place did you grow up in Egbert?” 

 

Your only answer is silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game Data Saved


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are learning more about what is to fear in Silent Hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the two lovely ladies that sat down with me and did a read through, and as always, sorry for any Grammar things that slid past up.
> 
> For the town map go here. http://leticheecopae.tumblr.com/post/36654742664/this-map-shows-where-both-boys-start-out-in-land
> 
> For the map of the apartment buildings go here. http://silenthill.wikia.com/wiki/Blue_Creek_Apartments

They move like oil, sliding in and out of view as they slash at your legs and ankles. You hear bells all over, tinkling like broken glass as large teeth grin at you. Some of the things have hats, some are missing limbs, all of them are smiling.

 

Your hammer is your only defense, and you are thankful for it’s decent rang. One is hit hard enough that it goes flying down ahead of you, exploding into an oily mess. You slip and go down, doing your best to roll like Dave taught you, hitting hard and feeling something leave a slice in your leg. Something sharp whistles by your head and you’re up, running blindly. You see the safety fence first and run for it, following it around the corner and almost go flying into the pit. There is no street and the bells are behind you. You do the only thing you can think of; you climb.

 

The metal is cold and sharp beneath your hands as you make your way up, lashing out when giggles and slick hands wrap around your heels. When you hit the top you swing over, feel gravity do its job, and plummet head first. You grip the top of the fence and feel your shoulder twist painfully. The hammer falls from your hand and hit the ground.

 

"Cut him out, cut him off." The words are high and sing song, dissident and horrifying. You let go and hit the concrete, knees bent as you do your best to roll. Your legs sting from the impact, but you manage to roll on your side, keeping from taking too much damage.

 

The bells are still chiming and you have only a second to gain your bearings before stumbling upwards. You spot your hammer and snag it, lurching for the only door you see. Chancing a glance over your shoulder, you falter. The fence is covered in black and muted colors, the imp-like creatures coming over it in a wave.

 

You hit the door hard with your shoulder, the pockmarked wood groaning and scraping as you enter. It sounds like a scream when you shove it shut. Leaning against the door, you feel them press and shove, trying to get in while you press back, fumbling with the lock. The bolt refuses to slide with them pressing on the door.

 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chant and shove hard, the door giving a definite click and you turn the lock. There is a chorus of 'awww' while you breathe hard. It is shortly followed by the shuffling of feet and broken bells. You stand, shoulder burning and lungs heaving while the excess adrenaline leaves you dizzy. There is no sound now and it worries you. Slowly you turn, putting your ear against the warped wood to listen. A shive shoves through a gap in the wood and grazes the tip of your nose. You jerk back and hear laughter as you stumble and fall on your ass. 

 

“Fuck this,” you wheeze and try not to let your voice tremble as you say it. You clamor back up, gripping your hammer tight as you look around the new area. Its some sort of apartment building from what you can tell, though the main hall is shorter than most, the mailboxes shoved under what is most likely a staircase. The numbers go up into the three hundreds. In one of them, a piece of paper is sticking out of box 101. It's the only thing in the boxes, and curiosity starts to take over the panic as you feel your phone still. Picking up the note, you look it over.

 

_Kingsley,_

_My son put our extra key down Mr. Mayer’s sink again in 303. I don’t know how Bondie keeps getting in there but would you be a dear and get it out? You know how Mayer isn’t the best with tools._

_Thanks,  
M.P. Apr. # 203_

 

“Good going kid.” You chuckle and slide the letter into your pocket. There is no doubt in your mind the kid was keeping his mother from leaving, taking off somewhere either for work or errands. You used to do the same thing to your Dad when you were little, especially before his long business trips. He had finally started putting mesh over all the drains to keep you from doing it which had sucked; then you learned how to use the vacuum. 

 

Rolling your arm you feel the ache in your shoulder fade, but the smile on your face lasts for only a step before you wince and stumble. With the adrenalin out of your system your aches and pains are coming in fast, and your leg is throbbing hard. Looking down, you find that the bandage on your leg has been slashed, a new trickle of blood pushing through the band aid. “Christ really?” You want to hit something with your hammer. Instead you walk into the hallway where the apartments are. The first door you find you push on, hoping to find new bandages somewhere. The door has a 105 winking blearily at you in the dim light from the front hall. The door doesn’t open though, the lock holding tight.

 

“Well shit.” The words echo down the hall and make you shiver. You hope not all the doors are locked. You go right, testing the rest of the doors in the dim light, not pulling out your flashlight until it’s absolutely necessary. 104 gives just enough that you can peek inside, fog filling the room from broken windows, a table wedged against the door and wall. 103 doesn’t give at all, and you contemplate breaking the handle but decide it's too much work; that and there is something possibly in there you want it to stay there. 102 you barely get the door cracked before your phone starts buzzing and you shut it quickly with a soft ‘fuck that’. 101 opens easily enough. 

 

It looks like Kingsley, if the note told you anything, had left in a hurry. The cupboards are thrown wide and trash is all over. Stepping inside, you hold your hammer tight, but nothing happens Taking a few more steps you look around the small apartment and its sparse furniture. It was probably clean at one point, and with a few nice pictures. There is one hanging sideways off the wall of a barrel chest man with a thin woman pulled to his side, fake crowns sitting on their heads. You shut the door tight behind you before venturing in further, blood dripping down your calf. The kitchen just inside the door is empty, and you walk through the small living room into a small alcove with two doors. You swing both open, one leading into an empty bedroom, the other a bathroom. Inside the bathroom you find a first aid kit and quickly use it. You wrap your leg up like you father had shown you, careful in removing the old bandages and disinfecting the new and old cut before redoing it. Thankfully neither are too deep, but that doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. The one from the accident is ugly though; jagged and purpling. 

 

As soon as you are done you pack away anything left over in one of your pockets, removing a protein bar as you do so and go back into the living room. You check the ingredients before taking a bite, happy to see that peanut butter is not on the list. It tastes just a bit like cardboard. You go into another room that looks like some sort of work room or office. There isn’t much left except a lump on the workbench. On further inspection you find it to be some sort of tool belt, large pouch and loops for different items. It looks like most were taken when Kingsley left, just a wrench left in a loop and nothing in the pocket. 

 

Picking it up you look it over. The belts a little large, but you think you can make it work. You cinch it as tight as it will go around your waist, wrapping it in your belt loops and around your own belt. It's a little loose, but not bad. 

 

“That’ll come in handy.” You slide your hammer into one of the loops and find that it fits perfectly, and hangs much better than in your belt loop, though it does make it a little uncomfortable on your hips. Sticking the last of the protein bar in your mouth, you head for the door when there is a loud bang. You just about jump out of your shoes and stay still. When nothing moves you head into the living room. Then the smell hits you. You cough and choke, looking into the kitchen to see the oven hanging open. The smell grows as you stare at it.

 

It smells like burnt brownies mixed with dirt and shit, a smell that for some reason you recognize. For a moment you can’t place it before the memory settles. Dad had been making brownies, and you had been wanting to make dirt pies. When he had asked for chocolate powder you had given him dirt, and when he baked it the house had smelled very similar as to what you are smelling now. Nana had yelled a lot from what you can remember. You also remember feeling guilty.

 

Leaning in you go to close the door, but stop. There is something thick and clumpy dripping out of the oven. The stuff starts to harden into a new form and your phone goes off, sending your adrenaline buzzing. You don’t think twice before you’re running out the door and slamming it shut, backing away as the buzzing dies down.

 

“I don’t even want to know.” You head for the stairs, foregoing checking the other apartments as the smell radiates from the other end of the hallway. Right now you need a way out, and you doubt any of the rooms downstairs are going to get you there. As soon as you hit the second floor you have to pull out your flashlight, the two boarded windows at the end of the hall doing nothing to light your way. At the top of the stairs you point the light one way, and then the other, see nothing and feel some relief. A quick check lets you know that most of the doors are either locked or broken and you huff. 

 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you mutter as you try 208. It's the fifth lock you have found that’s broken, not just locked, the handle turning but nothing happening. “Who the fuck goes around breaking door locks?” Though it's not all bad, a few rooms made your phone freak out, and you were happy to have the wood between you and whatever ‘imp’ was behind it. The only one that was open let you into a room that immediately had your phone blasting, and you barely saw something move before shutting it quickly and backing away. 

 

Turning, you find a doorway to a second staircase. Pushing it open, you find you can go up, but not down, the lower half full of debris and broken furniture. Not for the first time you wonder what the fuck these people were doing when they evacuated. The third floor landing door opens with a harsh shove, letting you sidle through the opening and into the hall. It's pitch black and your light only does so much. You try door 308 and let out a sound of anger when you find it is broken. The smell from downstairs is strong up here, but there is so far no warning from your phone, so you keep going. With a few grumbled curses you walk down the hall, trying each door and getting angrier with each push and shove that gives you nothing. You end up kicking the door to the stairwell when you find it won’t open.

 

Mumbling and grumbling to yourself you stop paying attention for the most part as you shove and push your way along the hall. It isn’t till you're almost to room 303 that you see it, curled on the floor, and that's only because of your phone; and the smell. The thing unfurls with a crunching sound while the same burnt smell is flooding your nostrils. The light waivers as you look at the creature that is made up of thin arms and legs and a coloring that goes between black and brown, like burnt gingerbread. There are no distinguishing features except that it has two extra of each limb, and it seems to be chest up, head hanging down. The center of it quivers and sloshes, bits dripping out as it unfolds. Too many of what you think might be eyes look at you, darker and shiny like beetles shoved into its upside down, noseless face. Your hand falls from the broken knob of 304 and you press yourself into the wall.

 

Slowly you sidle against the wall, your hand immediately looking for the knob to 303. Its neck opens up, splitting up it’s length from mouth to collarbone and hisses at you like a teakettle releasing steam. The arms and legs crunch as it turns to keep staring at you. 

 

_’Holy fuck. Holy shit. I’m going to die. What the hell is that? Fuuuuuuu-”_

 

Your hand finds the knob. The creature tilts its head as you slowly start to turn it. When you hear the click of the latch it’s like a switch, and it lunges.

 

It hits the wall you were just standing against with a harsh thunk as you dart inside the apartment, happy to finally have found a room that isn’t broken. A hand makes it inside before you can pull the door shut, scratching at you as you attempt to pull it closed, the tips of its fingers leave slight scratches and smears on your face. Each tug at the door makes the arm crack and crunch while the thing outside screams. Screams and screams, its open mouth gaping at you from the other side of the door, eyes wide as you try and keep it out. 

 

You realize that you’re screaming too as you start smacking the thing with the butt of your flashlight. Your stomach heaves when the limb cracks after a harsh smack. The door shuts on it a moment later and the limb falls to the floor. You keep screaming as you stomp on the limb with a harsh crunch. The sound makes your stomach lurch again and you turn to throw up in the front of the front closet, protein bar spilling all over the floor until you have nothing left.

 

Saying nothing, you slide down the wall across from the door and take in gulp after gulp of air, staring at the arm. The crispy limb looks like it's melting, dissolving into an oily pool on the floor until all that is left is a nasty looking stain on the already dirty tile. 

 

Once you can breathe again, you stand on shaking legs and pick up your flashlight. The layout of this apartment is the exact same as the last one, only flipped to fit the other side of the building. On the counter, you see a bottle of water, unopened and intact even if the label looks a bit worn. You snatch it up and tear off the cap, pouring water down your throat until half the bottle is gone. You only stop to gasp for air and let out a sob. 

 

“What’s going on?” You brace yourself against the counter. Images of the strange thing outside flutter through your head and make you shudder, especially when you imagine it with a bloody mouth holding a fedora. 

 

“Please be okay Dad, please,” you whisper and take another drink of water before capping it and putting it into the pouch of the tool belt. Standing up straight, you take a deep breath and let it out. As you open your eyes the first thing you see is cans; cans upon cans in the cupboards, on the counters, and even the oven. All of them have their labels torn off. A few of them look like they are rusting through in places, others shine in the dull light of your flashlight.

 

The sink catches your eye and you go to turn it on, pipes clanging before a stream of filthy water comes out. With a sneer of disgust, you shut it off quickly, any thoughts you had of washing the sweat and grime off your face disappearing. The water doesn’t disappear, though, at least not quickly, and you watch it slowly drain.

 

“Thing must be clogged.” _’Wait…_

 

Pulling the letter out of your back pocket you read it over again. Room 303, the room you are currently in, is the one with the missing key. Not only that but you have just what you need to get to said key. 

 

“Good think I know how to use a wrench.” Kneeling, you open the sink doors and gag at the smell of damp and mold. There is a slight puddle from the dripping pipe. Taking the wrench, you fit it around the first clamp? Knut? You can’t remember what your father called it, but you know that if you turn hard enough it will come off, and that is just what it does. It's a bit hard to get it going, but once you do it slides away and water pours out, splattering you.

 

“Smart,” you grumble before turning the second connector of the U-bend pipe and remove it. There is something in it, you can hear it gently clicking in the water-filled tube. You dump it onto the already soaked sink floor and are greeted with the thunk of a dull metal key hitting the soggy wood. Picking it up, you can just barely see the number 203 on its fake leather connector. Outside you hear something thunk against the wall and swallow. You hope that maybe there is a way out in the room you’re in, but upon further inspection you find nothing. The far bedroom faces another apartment building, the other wall close enough you could probably touch it if not for the glass. Below you can barely see a door in the wall, swung open like a mouth. It takes you a second to realize that it is across for 203, and it's your best shot.

 

You go back to the kitchen, come up with another bottle of water that goes into your free right pocket, and grab the wrench and put it back in your belt. The hammer is heavy in your hand as you touch the doorknob. You take a few deep breaths before opening the door and darting out. Hands skim the top of your head and to your horror you realize that the thing was waiting above you. Your feet thud along the floor as your light guides you down the hall with its jerking beam. The thing above you hisses and scratches your scalp, leaving stinging lines that have you ducking as you run. A hand shoots out of a door ahead of you, the fingers broken and hanging off from the harsh punch.

 

You dodge it, heart in your throat. 

 

The door to the stairs is right there, just right there, still opened and waiting for you. When you get to it you don’t slow down, clipping your hip on the door jam before hitting the wall of the stairwell. You keep moving as you hear the things thud against the door. You practically leap down the stairs and dart into the second floor hall. You hit the imp hard, sending you both down, and swing instinctively as you do. The hammer smashes it in the face, breaking teeth. It takes a second to gain your feet again, snatching up your light as you rush to the end of the hall. Behind you there is the tinkle of bells and hissing sounds as the things from upstairs make it to the second floor. Another imp slashes at you as you go by the second stairwell, but it misses. There is never a time in your life that you have ran this fast, and when you find room 203, you almost fly by it and into the wall. You skid on old carpet and ram the key in the lock. In your peripheral you see the multi-limbed thing coming for you, your light letting you see it rush along the ceiling. Turning the knob you pushing inside and slam the door shut. You lock it quickly behind you.

 

Your phone is going nuts as you keep moving, not stopping as you hear the things outside hit the wood, making the door shake. Dashing through the apartment you find the bedroom, the dirty window framing the emergency door of the other apartment complex. The glass smashes easily with your hammer. As soon as you’re on the balcony you can here the monsters tear through the door.

 

You dash across the foot-wide gap between the buildings and through the emergency door.

 

Turning, you slam the door shut.

 

 _Open only in Case of Emergency_ winks back at you in the light of your flashlight as you pant. 

 

You stand motionless for a moment before throwing your hands in the air.

 

“WOO!” You scream as you hear things scrambling outside. “Can’t catch me fuckers! I’m too fast for ya! Might as well start calling me a Stri-” The chuckle behind you makes you freeze mid-sentence. You turn. 

 

One second you’re watching a white fist streaking towards your head, and the next you're staring up at a ceiling, your vision blurry. 

 

The last thing you register is a white figure floating above you and the wind caressing your face. 

 

\-----------

 

_”He’s a spoiled little brat and you know it.” Her voice is sharp and makes you wince._

_“Mother please, he was just-”_

_“Just what? Making mud pies? He could have burnt the whole house down!” You grip your fathers pant leg and sob gently into it._

_“I’m sorry.” You say quietly but no one hears it over her yelling._  
\-----------

 

There are way too fucking many of them, too many for you to count, and that’s saying something. You’re pretty sure they are just repeating themselves, some of them missing limbs from previous slashes and their grins have become frowns, but there are plenty that are still whole. The woods are the ideal place for the little shits, hanging off of branches while shooting needles faster than you can block. Some nick your arms and cheeks while others try and trip you. Miraculously, you manage to stay up; moving around and slicing through the thread before they can wrap you up in their fucked up puppet web.

 

The attacks thin out after you get over the main road, but you don’t have much time to breathe as you run along the concrete path. You go right when the path splits, foregoing the trees and chancing the sloping side of the cracking path. Somehow you manage not to slip and die before ending up on asphalt. Pausing, you look up and find the sign for Sanders St. jutting out from a pole. Behind you, you can still hear just the slightest rustlings of leaves. You start moving.

 

It's amazing how much damage a storm can do to a place when you think about it. Sanders is fucked all to hell, glass everywhere, and the Lindsey St. crossroad doesn't look much better. You keep following Sanders, glancing as storefronts as you go. Your phone is making only the slightest amount of noise as you catch movement on the roof tops, the slightest blur of color in all the gray. Whatever, the fuckers aren’t bothering you right now so you don’t pay them any mind.

 

Thankfully the area to your left is empty, just grass and parking lots. When you pass an ally you don’t even give it a second glance. Like hell you’re inviting that sort of bull shit into your life. You keep going, the Happy Burger on the corner not looking so happy. As you approach the end of the street your phone starts to pick up in volume. There are two of the strange not-Cal’s sitting next to the burger joint, and you don’t even want to know what’s on the other side of the corner.

 

“Care for a drink?” you mumble to yourself as you push into the one building left for you; Neely’s bar. 

 

“Could always go for a beer,” you say in a voice akin to Egbert’s.

 

“Good, cuz I’m buying.”

 

You close the door behind you and click the lock. You step back carefully, happy that your phone's sound is dying down. 

 

“Whaaaat’cha drinkin ‘oney.” The voice is slurred all to hell and you just about run into the door. Whipping around, you find a woman seated at the far end of the bar, martini glass filled and dripping as it sloshes in her hand. Her clothes look fine pressed, though a little ragged, like they were getting on in years. She looks to be in her mid thirties maybe, all flawless skin and strawberry blonde hair that is probably anything but natural. “I can hork you up, I mean honk I...fix you somthin’ good.” She takes another swig from her glass and you hesitantly walk forwards, not sure how to react to this woman. Putting the glass down she smacks her lips and looks at you, eyes narrowing. For a moment you think it's because of your sword, but by the way she slides her stool back and manages to saunter over to you in fucking heels makes you think it's something completely different.

Sheathing your sword, you let her take a look at you up and down like she’s studying something. You’re half expecting her to walk around you, but instead, she just sways on her feet. It starts to get unnerving after a while and you open your mouth to try and break the tension. She beats you to it.

 

“Fuck you look like Rosie.” The words are eerily steady. That’s all she says before turning and heading back to her seat. You follow at a safe distance and watch her settle on the bar stool, the one next to her holding a white purse with a large pink scarf folded on top of it.

 

“Hello, nice to meet you too, name’s Dave,” you say as she pours more booze into the glass. 

 

She looks at you in shock for a moment before letting out a peal of laughter. Sad to say you kind of like it, hearing it echo around the empty bar is better than the constant silence outside. 

 

“Roxy,” she replies and holds up her glass like she is giving you a toast. She then tips her head back and drains the thing. It’s hard not to wince watching her do it. “Roxy Lalonde,” she adds as she puts the glass down hard enough to crack the bottom. The grin she gives you makes you shift under her eyes. The look is almost predatory. 

 

“Well, what brings a lovely gal like yourself to this shit hole?” You try to sound a bit like a gentleman but really it just comes out sounding hickish as your Texan accent slips through. 

 

She pours herself another drink.

 

“Coul’ ask you da same fing.” She points a finger at you, almost dropping the liquor bottle as she does. You eye her. Maybe she knows something about Dad? Unlikely but what the hell.

 

“Here looking for my friends Dad. Goes by the last name Egbert. Heard of him?” By the way her eyes light up you would say she does.

 

“Eggies is back in town!” She just about falls off the stool with a squeal. “I havn’ seen him since I got all sortsa knocked up.” 

 

Raising a brow you take a few steps forwards to go and steady her, but she waves you off. 

 

“What a nice man he was, till that bitch swooped in and snatched that fine ass up.” She takes another drink. “Thought I coul’ get wit’ him after she lef’. But ol’ Eggie wouldn’ do that. Ended up getting preggers myself anyways.” You watch her slosh her drink around in her glass, an uneasy feeling filling you as the sloppy circles become extremely precise, spilling nothing. “Have you seen my Rosie?” She asks softly, not looking away from her drink. “I knows she’s here somewhere, jus’ can’ seem to find her. Was always good at that, hidin from me.”

 

“No, sorry,” you reply and watch her shoulders sag. “Maybe John’s seen her, or Jake, I mean Mr. English.” 

 

She goes into a laughing fit over the name and you stop. 

 

“What?” 

 

Roxy takes a few deep breaths though there are still a few giggles here and there.

 

“That what tha’ ol’ farts callin’ himself now?” She laughs again. “I wouldn’ want him near my little girl. Couldn’ even protec’ his own.” She takes another drink. “Best hun’er and tracker in town and look what that got ‘im. Though...” Roxy almost drains the glass again and you wonder how her liver is still in tact. “That don’ mean help wouldn’ be nice.” You don’t like the way she’s eying you. “What you say, Davey, wanna help ol’ mama Lalonde find her little Rosie?” Something tells you to get the fuck out by the way she smiling.

 

“Sorry, but I have my own person to search for, so I’m gonna have to say no.” The words are gentle as you say them. Her speed surprises you as you barely duck the glass that goes whizzing by your head.

 

“Then what good are ya!” she cries as you spin to dodge the booze bottle 

 

Sword at the ready, you stand only to find she’s seated back at the bar, pulling a dusty glass and bottle towards herself. 

 

“I don’ know where Eggies is,” the slur is back in her speech, voice solemn. “But I know his ol’ lady lived on the other side of tha’ lake. Try there.” You edge around the bar, eyes on her as she pours more booze into the glass and knocks it back. 

 

“Yeah,” you say as you reach the other door to the bar and find you would suddenly rather be out there with the non-Cal’s then in here with this woman. “I hope you find your Rosie.” Her shoulders go stiff and you are out of there as fast as you can. The sound of breaking glass follows you

 

“I’m a good mother!” She screams as you race down the street. You slow when you realize there is no sound coming from your phone, just your feet on the pavement. 

 

“Fuck was her problem?” you ask out loud and keep going. Neely St. ends abruptly in a large sinkhole at its intersection with Katz and you almost go left. Probably would have too if you hadn’t seen the weird black shit on the ground. There are droplets all over, and when you kneel down and touch it you grimace of the feeling of it between your fingers. The more you rub it the stickier it gets despite how oily it feels at first. Wiping it on the ground, you see what looks like a foot print. Its only partial, but it's pointing towards some place called _Happy Jade Restaurant_. Studying the print you find that you recognize it. It looks like the one in a photo you took a few months back, one that Egbert had helped you do in some soft mud.

 

“John!” you call out and hear nothing. Standing, you look around warily. The world seems oddly calm as you take a step towards the restaurant. “John?” you try again and enter the store front. There is more black stiff in here that you step around, doing your best to keep your shoes out of the shit. All around you is wind and water damage, the doorway back to the kitchen looking a bit charred, like some sort of grease fire had tried to claim the place only for the storm to bitch slap it and claim its territory.

 

“Jo-” you are cut off when the front of the store gives a lurch, then another, and in a second you are running for the scorched door as the floor crumbles. You jump over a table just as the floor gives way and you’re holding onto the door frame, one foot in and the other dangling. Looking over your shoulder you swallow and look down at the cavernous drop that is rapidly filling with debris and fog, the hole from the street stretching inside the store now with the entire front collapsed.

 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper before getting both feet firmly in the kitchen. Everything is charred, from the pots and pans to the ceiling. On the far side you can see where it must have started, the wall blackened. You look around the room for only a moment before your phone starts ringing, the scratching static making your ears ache as thread shoots past to lodge in the wall. There is only one other door in the room and you take it quickly, slicing the tread in a swift unsheathing of your sword. 

 

The door leads into a small alleyway that is blocked by a fence on your left and the hole on your right. It doesn’t look like its spread to the other building yet, but it's still keeping you trapped. Your phone gets louder and you grab the knob to the second building and yank on the ‘Employees only’ door. It takes a couple of tugs but it comes loose just as you see one plush hand grip the side of the hole.

 

Swinging it shut you breath heavily through your nose, doing your best to keep your wits. Wherever you are it's fucking dark. Turning, you pull out your flashlight and click it on. You’re in some sort of hallway, long and windowless with doors on either side. You start walking, light illuminating the door plaques. The first on your left says ‘Stairs’, two doors on your right say ‘storage’, and further down there is an elevator on your left. You hit the button and aren’t surprised when the thing doesn’t even light up. A set of double doors sits at the end of the hall. They have glass in them, done in the diamond pattern to deter bullets and other items that could be used to break through.

 

“Hospital?” you murmur to yourself. It didn’t seem big enough to be a hospital. _’Must be a clinique,”_ you think to yourself. 

 

Striding forwards, you start to pull on one of the double doors. You have it opened a few inches just before the buzzing starts. You catch a quick glance of the other side before letting the door swing back into place. 

 

You had not just seen that. Nope. There was no way. You look through the glass of the door and duck immediately. 

 

Yes, yes you had. Backing away from the door you prey they hadn't seen you, but with your flashlight, you’re pretty sure they did. Dozens of not-cals press their faces against the glass panes in the windows; your light illuminating the mix of red, green, and black eyes. There are too many to take at once. You hear the push bar on the other side of the door start to give and you bolt. 

 

The storage door is your first choice and you push the door in as you feel something nick the back of your neck before slamming the thing shut. A filing cabinet sits next to it and you throw it to the ground, using it as a makeshift barricade as you look for a place to hide. Shutting off your light, you let the dingy light coming in through the high windows guide you through the room. You find crates, gurneys, and other medical looking supplies. Near the back, you find an old desk and quickly duck under it. 

 

Outside you hear sliding sounds as you pull a chair in front of you. A piece of paper sits in the seat and you glance at it as you pull it in, the words ‘Silent Hill Pet Center’ large and black on an orange background. You snatch it and pull the chair in as far as it will go, listening as you shove the paper in your back pocket. There is a click sound, like metal on metal, followed by another, and another. You realize that they must be throwing needles at the door, trying to break it down. The image makes you release a snicker that you quickly lose. The clicking is getting louder, more uniform, like all the needles firing off at once. 

 

Click. Click. Click. Click. 

 

It continues to grow, the sound morphing and making your ears ring as you clamp your hands over them. 

 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

 

The sound is making your eyes water and you screw them shut. Then there are two sounds, distinctly the same and different at the same time. You feel the room grow warm as they continue, a steady rhythm as sweat prickles over the back of your neck.

 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

 

It's getting so warm, unbearably warm, but you don’t dare open your eyes. You don’t dare to move. You just listen. The louder the sound the slower it goes, and you’re suddenly very afraid as to what will happen if it stops.

 

TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK. TICK. TOCK.

 

And then silence. For a moment you think you’ve gone deaf as you remove your hands from your ears, only to find that the sound is still there, just not nearly as loud, and going as quick and uniform as a watch. The room is sweltering, and you push the chair away from the desk. 

 

You flinch at the texture. You remember cool leather but instead find something spongy and scratchy against your palm. You find foam poking out of the leather and raise a brow. Shoving the chair away you stand and look around the room and just about fall on your ass. 

 

There is the gentlest red glow coming from the high windows in the room, the walls look like they have been painted with rust, and every single crate you saw before in now a cage.

 

In every cage is a dead crow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game Data Saved


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.smokingpipes.com/pipes/new/dunhill/moreinfo.cfm?product_id=107846 - pipe  
> http://silenthill.wikia.com/wiki/Wood_Side_Apartments?file=SH2Woodside2.PNG- map

It’s the cold that wakes you; a cold that is trying to seep into your bones as you huddle into the jacket Jake gave you. The world around you is cast in some sort of half light, and as you filter back into consciousness you aren’t quite sure what is going on. Shifting, you sit up, feel pain in your forehead and reach up to touch a slight swelling on your skull. You hiss and drop your hand, fixing your skewed glasses so you can look down the hallway. 

 

“What the fuck,” you say and lean back against the hard surface behind you. Turning your head, you find the same door you had come through, but the once dull surface of the _Open Only in Case of Emergency’s_ sign looks like it has been sand blasted. Hell, the whole fucking place looks that way. Turning to look down the hall again, you stare at the walls and they stare right back with gaping holes in the plaster with nothing but shadows in them. A low murmuring comes from everywhere and nowhere, like wind whistling through the cracks. There are no doors here, at least not for the first few rooms to your right, and the empty frames let in the strange unnatural light from outside. 

 

Standing on shaking legs, the world tilts and you grab at the wall, feel the plaster crumble under your hands, and jump back. There is no wood behind it, only that strange darkness that seems to shift like shade in the sun, only its shade on shadow and there is no way to see what’s underneath. You don’t really care to find out what might be inside it. There is a bump to your ankle and you look down to find your flashlight and hammer which you quickly snatch up and deposit in their rightful places.

 

Taking a few steps, you shiver. Wherever you are it's full of drafts, wind whistling around you as you move to look into the first door. One of the first things you notice is that the light makes no sense, the second is that the far wall is missing, the third is that there is absolutely nothing outside but fog. At least, nothing you can see. Taking a few steps inside the room, you look at the crumbling walls that have small pieces of debris shoved into them. Carefully you pick your way around shards of glass stuck in the floor, large splinters of wood sticking out like small stakes waiting to impale your feet, and so many broken items that their original forms can’t even be comprehended.

 

The floor creaks the closer you get to the missing wall until you’re leaning out into a grey-white abyss. It’s cold, wet, and the strange mist swirls around you, licking your sides as the winds press closer. It is a very unpleasant feeling as you scan down below you. You expect to see the shadow of the ground, maybe more crumbled walls caused by the storms, instead it goes on forever. It’s not that the fog is thick, but that quite literally the place seems to just keep going.

 

Staring downwards, you can just see a wall, parts of it missing as other rooms look out into the mist filled nothin, and count several floors before they are swallowed in the swirling, white stained winds. Looking up is one of the last things you want to do, but you do it anyways. It’s the same thing, endless floors stacked on top of each other that dissapear into the fog and mist. You back away slowly from the opening, keeping your eyes on the skies. Getting back to the hallway you return to the door you entered through and push, the smallest bit of hope in your belly that it will let you back out into the real world and out of wherever the hell you are in now. The door swings open on screeching hingest to absolute nothingness, mist swirling in and chilling you even more.

 

“Fuck.” It’s the only thing you can think to say as you lean out to look down and find a similar view as before, only it's all just wall and no other doors. Swallowing, you pull yourself back in and shut the door. The hall before you is ominous when you turn, the strange pale light almost alive as the winds blow between the doors and the strange, gaping black holes in the wall opposite them, causing cross breezes as you walk. You are careful not to touch the wall next to you again. Besides the wind, everything is still, which is more unsettling than you could ever believe. Its like you are the only living thing left in this world. 

 

The next room is identical to the second, most of the outer wall missing. The next door frame is so covered in planks with nails driven in so deep you don’t think you could ever pull them out. “Stairs” is barely legible on the wall next to it, and you aren’t sure if you should be relieved or even more frightened. The small room next to that is empty, full of shadows, and you can’t get passed it fast enough. The hallway immediately splits, letting you turn left or head down the hall. Opting to go straight, you get a few feet before you phone starts vibrating just the slightest, and you think you hear bells. Your brain can’t say ‘nope’ fast enough before you’re backing down the other hall. The doors are gone here too, and when you get near the end of the hall you find your phone vibrating again.

 

This time the sound of bells is distinct, a single set, and you carefully peer around the side of the door jamb to look inside. A single imp is sitting in the center of the floor, it's back to you, atop a pile of smoking pipes. Your stomach drops at least three floors as you watch it hum, playing with one of the pipes between long fingers with too many joints. You know that pipe, hell you fucking bought that pipe, saved up more than half a year's worth of allowance and paper route money to buy it and it still hadn’t been the one you wanted. The one you had wanted had been more than two hundred dollars extra, but the one the imp holds was a close second, so you had bought it. A Dunhill style amber root pipe that gently curved, a deeper color than the one you had originally shot for, but still beautiful. You had managed to save almost half a grand and snag it at a black friday sale and it is one of the few gifts you are proud of buying for your Dad.

 

Dad had tried to get you to return it, saying that it was much too much money for a child to spend on their parent. You wouldn’t do it.

 

Dad hasn’t used another pipe since.

 

The floor squeaks as you take a step forward, jolting you back into awareness as the imp freezes, bells jangling. You are no longer flesh, you are stone, staring at this thing holding the pipe that looks like it is made out of a glowing amber. Its fingers are caressing the thing, making you feel sick as it goes back to playing with it. Lifting your offending foot gently there is the slightest squeak and then a giggle. Shit.

 

The thing’s head turns around almost fully as it looks at you with those damn teeth and lets out a high-pitched giggle. Your hammer is heavy in your hand as you watch it stand, its fingers still playing with the pipe.

 

“Pretty, pretty, oh so pretty,” it says, as its fingers glide over it, eyeless face staring at you while its teeth never move. “Even prettier in pieces.” You know what’s going to happen before it even makes a fist around the end of the pipe. 

 

Your hammer comes down on its head just before it can snap off the neck from the bowl. Black splatters your jacket’s cuffs. The thing giggles as it crumples, pipe dropping and rolling away from the pile of what you realize are broken ones beneath it. They are replicas of all the ones you had looked at, splintered and mangled, some drenched in black. 

 

“Everything's prettier in pieces.” The thing giggles and you hit it again, and again, unaware when you start crying. You keep slamming the hammer down even when it's melted into nothing but black goo and your phone has gone silent. You just keep smashing into the broken pile until you can’t swing anymore. 

 

Kneeling on shaking legs, you pick up your father’s pipe, feel its heft, and know it's his. There is a flash of fear before emptiness fills you and you try not to think. You slide it into your belt pouch with trembling fingers and leave the room, find the door at the end of the hall unlocked, and push. You are greeted by stairs, some going up, others going down; both quickly disappear into the darkness. There is a wind coming upwards.

 

“Never go up in horror movies,” you mutter to yourself while you look upwards and pull out your flashlight. The beam goes only so far, and about three or four landings up you think you see something skitter back into the shadows. “It's how they corner you.” 

 

So you go down, one foot after the other, walking past doors that are so warped there is no way to open them. On a few landings, the door looks operable, but your phone rings danger. The wind gets stronger the further down you go until there are no stairs, just an open door and a new hall. 

 

Down here the walls are almost worse than upstairs, some more shadow than actual plaster, and that scares you. There could be anything in those walls. There also aren’t any doors, but there are windows, or you assume they are windows. You can’t see anything out them, just more black while the wind murmurs through the cracks. Absently you wonder where the mist has gone, how far down you are, and shove it all away.

 

The spider thing climbs out of the wall like its nothing, the smell hitting you suddenly and startlingly you so that you freeze. You want to click off your flashlight, but don’t dare. The thing doesn’t seem to care, just walks along the ceiling and disappears into the opposite wall. It takes you a few moment to relearn breathing, and when you sidle past the spot you keep a tight hold on the hammer. Nothing happens though, and you keep moving, watching the walls and jumping when the wind shifts.

 

The hall keeps going, and you keep following it, starting to whistle through dry lips when you can’t take the silence anymore, not caring if those baked things might hear. It’s too hard, listening to your head, fingering the pipe in your pocket and wondering where it came from. You want your Dad, and Dave, hell even an imp would be an improvement. When the hall finally comes to an end you feel like you’ve been walking for hours, mind shot with images of your father bloody and lying in pools of slain imps killed too late. Shoving the door open you walk into the next room, phone silent, and keep moving.

 

“HEY!” The words make you almost drop your light as you swing it towards the sound. A face grimaces and turns away. “What are you trying to do blind me?” It says angrily but you don’t drop the light. There is a person hanging in the middle of the room, arms stretched high above them, wrists wrapped in cuffs, and his feet just barely touching the ground. “Seriously, you fucker, get that out of my face,” he shifts and hisses as there is a whistle of air and you watch red blossom on his cheek. “Now look what you fucking went and made me do,” he growls and opens an eye, a red iris staring at you, reflecting light back when he shifts just slightly. There is something very off about him, something horrifyingly off, and it takes you a moment to realize there are some sort of screws coming out of his head. No, not screws, those are...horns? And is he fucking gray?

 

“What the fuck are you?” And despite wanting to bolt you don’t. Your phone isn’t buzzing and this guy is suspended in the air, hands held high, and something is hurting him.

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he growls back as you lower the light. With the light lowered you look him over. There are smears of blood everywhere and small cuts all over his body, some looking deeper than others. He has no belly button, two darker spots on his chest that could be nipples but look more like small bruises, no hair below his neck, strange scars that wrap around his sides, and his skin looks strangely hard despite the way it stretches. He’s about your height, at least you think he’s a ‘he’ from his growling voice and lack of breasts. The only thing he’s wearing are what look to be some sort of sweatpants that are tied tight above his hips. You go to take a step forwards.

 

“Hold it!” he shouts and you do. “Are you really that fucking pan dead? You want to get us both killed? Pay some attention to your surrounding you ass nugget.” His swearing gets a nervous chuckle out of you as you scan the room. The floor surrounding him is covered in small wires. One end of them disappears into a slit in the floor with the others are attached to his...toes? 

 

“You step on those I am fucking dead, or did you not see how me moving was a horrible fucking idea?” 

 

“What do they do?” you ask the thing up against the wall.

 

“Try and kill me, what else, fuck-ass.” 

 

“Who put you here?” 

 

“Does it fucking matter?” he spits at you.

 

“I guess not.” You drag your light over the room. “Can you tell me where we are at least?” The light travels upwards and you find that the ceiling disappears into what looks like a starry sky. It takes you a moment realize what first looked like stars are thousands of shining, sharp points suspended above you. You stop and stare at them.

 

“We’re in a god damn dungeon and along with freezing I am now faced with the sudden urge to thrash until I’m so shot full of holes that I don’t have to listen to your idiotic questions anymore!” You watch as one of the arrows releases and duck even though it wouldn’t hit you. There is a hiss of pain and you turn to find an arrow bolt embedded into the wall and a new slice in the creature’s shoulder shoulder.

 

“Oh shit,” you murmur.

 

“Yeah, ‘Oh shit’. Now get me out of these fucking cuffs, would you? Either that or get the fuck out so I can continue with my misery in peace.” He is glaring at you again and his eyes remind you a lot of Dave’s.

 

“Tell me why you’re hanging like that and maybe I will.” 

 

He gives out a growl though he manages not to twitch. 

 

“As I said before, DOES IT FUCKING MATTER!? The bitch who runs this little slice of hell hates my guts and decided that leaving me immobile and at the mercy of my own fucking tantrums was the best way to punish my insufferable self. How’s that?” His chest heaves slightly when he finishes.

 

“Maybe I should just go,” you say softly and start to side step towards the other wall.

 

“FINE!” he shouts and this time another arrow lets loose and doesn’t just cut. You watch it shoot straight into his side and out his back before embedding itself in the wall behind him. The hole the bolt leaves behind immediately starts bleeding heavily.

 

“Stop moving!” you yell and watch as he tries not to twitch and fail, a bolt almost impaling his cheek. “Shit, shit, okay how do I get you down?” 

 

“Oh so now you fucking care,” he pants while blood drips down his side

 

“Hey,” you snap back. “I’ve been chased around by shit you wouldn’t believe today, so sorry for being a bit cautious when some monster, alien, thing, that’s tied to the wall with fucking arrows pointed at it is asking me to unlock it.” Your hand tightens around your flashlight as you point it up at him. He glares down at you.

 

“Fine, fine, just get that shit out of my eyes.” 

 

You do so and huff before looking around. You see three levers near the back of the room, a door opposite the one you entered from, and more black holes in the walls. 

 

“Are those what let you down?” You point at the levers.

 

“Fuck if I know,” he grumbles behind you. “I was out when she hung me up in here, and let me tell you, waking up to a bolt wizzing past your head doesn’t exactly instill calmness. I almost lost my fucking left horn because of that crazy bitch.” He’s wheezing a little as he says it and you wonder if the bolt hit something important. Moving closer to the levers you listen to him grumble something. Next to each lever is a picture. One looks like an arrow, another you recognize as the symbol for cancer, and the last you aren’t too terribly sure about, but it looks like a web. Reaching out, you pull on it just a little and you hear a slight sigh of relief.

 

Turning you shine the light on the thing on the wall, look at the threads on the floor and see they’ve gone lax, just a little. You raise the lever and watch him hiss as the wires go taunt over his toes again. You pull a little on the lever with the cancer symbol and watch as he suddenly begins to slump, a few arrow bolts firing off as the cuff above him suddenly lower.

 

“FUCKING WATCH IT!” he screams and you grab the first lever quickly, making the string go lax as he thrashes, releasing the one with the cancer symbol and forcing him to stand straight-backed.

 

“I think I figured it out!” you call as you look between the levers.

 

“Well thank whatever deity runs this hell hole for that, your pan isn’t completely worthless.” Despite his yelling, he sounds a bit subdued. You don’t understand what he means by ‘pan’ but you don’t wonder about it long. The web lever makes the thread go lax, cancer releases the cuffs and the arrow...well you can infer what that does. You pull down on the web lever first until you hear it click. Letting go it stays, you can hear the guy behind you sigh.

 

“So...what’s your name?” You pull the second lever.

 

“Karkat,” you hear him grumbled. He gives out a hiss as he is lowered. He lets out a series of swears when he is flat-footed and his arms are no longer holding all his weight. When the lever clicks the cuffs fully release and he falls, letting out a squawk as he faceplants into the thread. There are a few sounds of triggers, but the bolts are too high above his sprawled body to do any damage.

 

Looking at the wall, you can see drips of red here and there from the bolts that had gone straight through him. A shudder wracks you as your hand goes subconsciously to your own side. You stay where you are as he starts to get up, keeping your light on him. A few more bolts go off and you watch him try to kneel, only to flop back down. More fire.

 

“Are you okay?” You ask softly to which you get a mumbled reply from the floor. “What?”

 

“I said I should have fucking seen that coming!” He yells as he looks up at you and glares.It doesn’t last long with your light in his face. With a growl, he moves to stand and in doing so puts a few more bolts in the wall. 

 

“Stop stop,” and you hiss it out when a bolt whizzes near his head. “You’re going to put more holes in you. Lay down again, geez.”

 

“Now why the hell would I do- ARE YOU FUCKING NUTS!” His scream reverberates throughout the room and makes your head hurt a bit as you smile at him, you hand on the last lever. He lays as flat as possible just before you jerk the lever down, and at least fifty or so arrows impale the wall, all of them stay above his body.

 

“You can get up now.” There is a grin in your voice that you like having. It feels like it has been too long since you smiled last. 

 

You walk over to Karkat and watch him use his shaking arms to balance while standing on weak legs. As soon as he’s up, he gives a hiss, grabs at his side and lurches at you. The movement immediately makes you backpedal, smile dropping instantaneously. 

 

“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” The echoing cry of anger makes your head hurt as you back away and trip over your own feet. Somehow you manage not to go down and keep the light on him. “Do you think that was fucking FUNNY?! What if those had been aimed at the FLOOR! Do you even fucking THINK or are you as pan dead as the FUCKING CORPSES that litter this hell hole!” He looks like he wants to keep going but he stumbles and sprawls, and from the noise he makes you don’t find it funny at all. Karkat rolls over and glares at something you can’t see before he goes to tug at his...feet? 

 

“Fucking spider bitch thread.” The growl of his voice carries as you stand and slowly walk forwards. He’s trying to tear the stuff off his toes, and hisses while he does. You can see small lines of red cutting into his flesh.

 

“You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

 

“Yeah? And what do you recommend? Smashing them? Yeah that will work really fucking great you-” The pocket knife your father had given you is out and flicked open in seconds, his stunned face giving you a reason to try and smile again. He grumbles indistinctly while you kneel slowly, eyes darting between him and the strands. When he makes no move towards you, just looks at you expectantly with those oddly red eyes, you start to cut. Karkat sits still as stone and holds the wound in his side while your blade is next to his toes, saying nothing which makes you feel uncomfortable. So you do the one thing you do when you feel uncomfortable, you ramble.

 

“It’s a good thing I came along,” you start and get a grunt from him. “I mean, with those weird thing crawling around.” Another grunt. “I’m John by the way.” He gives a sound that you’re not even sure of and just keeps going.“Those spider things are pretty creepy aren’t they,” you get to his middle toe. “I think I’m going to call them Brownie Recluses because they smell like burnt chocolate”. More slicing. “They smell horrible don’t you think?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replies which makes you pause for a moment.

 

“What?” He has to have seen them, just like you, otherwise... the monsters are real right?

 

“Listen...John?” It sounds like it a chore to remember your name, and it's hard to tell if he means for it to sound that way or it really is. “I’ve been down here I don’t know how long, and I have had my own shit to deal with. I’ve seen things, but hell if I’ve ever been close enough to smell them.” 

 

Letting out a little breath of air you go back to cutting.

 

“Good, I’m not the only one.” You start on the other foot. “So why exactly are you down her-” Karkat’s hand is suddenly gripping your mouth, squeezing, and you have to force yourself not to jerk. There are sharp points pressing into your cheeks and you realize they are his fingernails. For a moment you want to jerk up and stab him, but when your eyes dart up to look you find that he isn’t even looking at you, he’s looking at the way you came.

 

“Oh shit,” he whispers. You barely hear something buzz far away. “Cut faster.” He lets go of your mouth. When you look at him in the light of your flashlight you can see that his pupils are blown wide. 

 

“What’s going on?” You keep cutting, going as quickly as you can, flashlight guiding the way.

 

“I’m not the only one spider bitch has been keeping under fucking lock and key.” It’s all he says as you keep cutting. The next time you hear the buzzing its deeper, more defined and he flinches, causing you to cut slightly into his foot.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” The blade is barely pulling away when he snatches it from you.

 

“For fuck sake.” He hisses and starts cutting like a madman, sometimes slicing into a toe with a hiss.

 

“What’s going on?” There is the slightest tremble of fear in your voice.

 

“We’re about to get fucked is what’s going on,” Karkat spits as he gets another toe free. 

 

“What are you talking about?” He doesn’t respond. “Karkat come on what’s going on out there.” His head snaps up as he opens his mouth to say something only for that buzzing to come again, and this time it reminds you of something. That makes no sense, though, because you only heard that in horror movies and logging documentaries. He goes back to cutting furiously, swearing under his breath as you turn to look at the door you came through. The wall around it starts to crumble.

 

“Karkat,” and the tone that come out shakes a little. “Cut faster.”

 

“Trying,” he bites out and you hear another hiss. With the light at his feet you can’t see the wall horribly well, just know that the spots of inky blackness are rippling and you want out as fast as fucking possible. A Brownie Recluse comes rushing out of the wall a short ways away and doesn’t even stop to look at you, just keeps going and hits the other wall, sending a black spot shimmering. A few seconds later another one shows up and does the same thing, then another, the fourth comes straight at you and Karkat. 

 

The hammer connects with its strange head on the first swing, sending it skittering sideways. It hisses at you but keeps going, brown dripping down the side of its head.

 

“Karkaaaaaaaat,” you say as they start spilling out of the wall. “Karkat, holy fuck what is going on.” You smack a few more away from you, backing up until you almost bump into Karkat, swatting at anything that comes too close; the stench is horrible. None of them care about you, though, they want out. The buzzing continues, the sound of revving rising and falling. It's so damn close.

 

“Almost...fucking....” the door shudders hard as he says it, the last of the Recluses start to trickle through. You notice that some are missing limbs. “Oh fuck.” The revving sound comes again before something pierces through the door and you cover your ears. Wood shreds as the door are sawed through and you stare wide eyed at the massive chainsaw that just cut through the door. There is something wielding it, tall and thin wrapped in dirty green and black rags. You only catch a few glimpses through splintering wood and metal when Karkat grabs you and you jerk. 

 

“Come on!” he screams and tugs you towards the opposite wall, causing you to stumble. He catches you while you hear the sawing stop and some sort of screaming behind you. If it weren’t for the fact that it makes you want to tear out your ears you would call it feminine. Karkat grabs the door on the other side and tugs with the same hand holding the flashlight, almost pulling the door off its hinges before you rush through.

 

“What is that!?”

 

“Shut up and run!” 

 

You run down the hall, dodging Recluses as they scamper away, disappearing between walls. The flashlight bobs in Karkat’s fist, making it hard to see and you both almost crash into the monsters as they scurry away from the thing behind you. In your wake, there is the sound of shrieking, crunching, and sawing. The Recluses behind you are getting slaughtered. 

 

Karkat tugs you around a turn you didn’t even see. You barely make it around the corner without falling. There is a whir of air next to your face, a deafening roar of the chainsaw, and the thing stumbles past you. Bile rises in your throat and you keep going as you hear more Recluses die by the chainsaw. Karkat is dragging you, claws in your forearm. If not for the jacket you would be bleeding by now, hell you might already be. 

 

His breathing sounds harsh and labored to you as you go around another twist and hear the chainsaw cutting away at things behind you. Finally you find a door and throw it open, both of you quickly turning to shut it. Karkat turns some sort of bolt on it that you would have never even seen. Neither of you wait to see if it holds before you keep going, though he isn’t dragging you anymore, instead he has one hand clamped over the wound in his side while he holds the flashlight with the other. The wind in this hall is strong as you follow his labored gait, listening to the chainsaw start to make work of the makeshift barrier you left behind.

 

“Are you okay?” you pant out and his response is a snarl in your general direction. Turning a corner you come to a dead end. Well not really a dead end, more just one giant gaping hole, and the wind that whips out of it has you both squinting.

 

“Now what?” You almost have to yell to be heard over the wind. Karkat doesn’t say anything, just turns in circles, looking for a way out. Behind you, the chainsaw gets closer and you can hear the thing’s footsteps between revs. “Karkat what-” he looks at you in a strange way that you can just make out in the flashlight beam before he grabs your arm. He jerks you forward harshly towards the hole and suddenly you think you may want to chance it with the chainsaw thing. 

 

“No. No, Karkat, stop, please what are you doing? I can’t-” his eyes shut you up. His red eyes stare at you, trying to make you understand him despite his sudden silence.

 

 _Trust me._

 

He shoves the flashlight into the hand not clutching your hammer. His hand lingers on your fingers for a brief moment before he lets it drop and the hand on your arm tightens. 

 

“It’s okay, John.” And for that second the wind seems to quiet, the chainsaw is muted, and he is the only thing there. 

 

“Karkat, what-” You can’t look away from those strange eyes.

 

“Shut up and go.” Then he’s shoving you through the hole and the wind is no longer blowing, it's sucking. You scream his name as you twist in mid air to catch his face again, his eyes filled with something akin to longing, to pity, though they are gone too fast for you to tell. It stuns you into silence for a moment. You hear the saw rev again and some sort of indiscernible shouting before you start screaming again, the wind sucking up the sound. Your light can’t find anything as you fall, not even the side of the building, and with the wind howling around you, you can’t even tell if you’re screaming anymore.

 

You don’t remember hitting the ground.

 

\-------------------  
 _“Trust me, John?” He’s holding his arms out to catch you as you feel the branch under you starting to break. It makes a scary sound, you don’t like that sound. It’s like when you snap popsicle sticks in half._

_“Daddy, I’m scared,” you whisper as he reaches for you. He is looking at you with something in his eyes that makes you want to cry._

_“It’s okay, John,” he says softly. “Just jump to me.” You hesitate, shift your weight, and for a moment you are weightless as the snap goes off like one of your toy guns, only so much more real._

_Something soft catches you, and for a moment you don’t know what to do, so instead you cling to it; cling hard._

_“I’ve got you,” your Daddy says and holds you so tight you can’t breath. “I’ve got you John. I’ve always got you.”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave finds what the other world has to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOODNESS! I am so sorry this chapter took so long! I just started classes again, and on top of writing this I had to design a full map for it as well. The Silent Hill Pet Center does NOT have a map! Hopefully the one I made makes sense. For the pet center may: http://leticheecopae.tumblr.com/image/40781489517
> 
> Enjoy everyone, and know that I will be trying to get chapters up faster, but I may have to write up more maps and things which take a lot longer than I thought they would. Sorry for any mistakes I missed!

_”The fu- What is that kid doing here?”_

_This isn’t the station. This is a warehouse. Why the fuck are you at a warehouse?_

_“They said the body hadn’t been moved yet and that we needed a pos-”_

_“So you bring a thirteen-year-old to a crime scene!?”_

_You’re not paying attention to the cops yelling at each other, instead, you’re staring at all the paint and crime scene tape. ‘Do Not Cross Police Line’ is stamped everywhere, and in the middle of it all is a body covered in white. There is red all over it._

‘Hey, lil' man. What’s big, and white, and red all over?’ 

‘What?’

‘Santa’.

‘But you said there’s no such thing as Santa.’ 

‘Not after I stabbed the jolly guy last year. Remember, lil’man, never sneak up on a Strider.’

_You swallow and start walking._

_All around are dead crows. Some were slashed, some look like they were blown to bits, others you can’t even tell. It’s all just blood, feathers, and cops. Above you, you can hear the ones that were left alive cawing._

_No one pays attention as you duck under the line, no one stops you while you walk through puddles of blood and have feathers stick to your shoes._

_It can’t be him, it can’t. He was just taking out a shipment. That was all, doing a shipment and he was going to make it to the show. He had promised, he had fucking promised this time._

_You pass a number 3 and don’t look down. You don’t want to see the orange hat with a hole in it._  
\---------------

You hit the desk with the small of your back and jerk when a soft caw comes from behind you. Whirling around, you stare wide-eyed at the bird in the rusted cage, shiny black eyes staring at you as a trickle of almost black red comes out of its beak. 

Out, you need out. Without thinking you run, shoot out of the door, hitting it hard and stumbling into the hall. Immediately you turn left, hit the exit door, and then pull back with a hiss. Your palms have turned a nasty shade of pink in the moment they were pressed against the metal, and as you stare at it you understand why. The door is gently glowing red in the almost black of the hall, and a small amount of something white hot and steaming is oozing out from beneath the door. Stepping back, you shake your hands out and feel the heat linger in the palms as you turn away. Pulling out one of the water bottles, you hold it between your stinging palms and feel the coolness from it seep into your flesh. It’s little relief, but you pray it will stop them from blistering. You know too well what it’s like trying to swing a sword with blisters on your fingers, and in this hell hole it’s the last thing you need.

Your eyes dart over the hall, searching for anything, but you can’t really see shit. The idea to take your shades off crosses your mind for about thirty seconds; then you remember needle projectiles and decide to just pull out your flashlight. Or you will, in a second, fuck your palms sting. Instead, you look at your surroundings, doing your best not to look in the door you just burst out of, the hinges frozen so that it’s sitting half way open. You can hear the soft cawing again.

_'Fucking crows.'_

The hall is a long stretch of darkness, though it seems backwards. While it’s dark there is light seeping out of everywhere. The walls are no longer made out of panels and plaster, but what looks like badly constructed sheet metal. Pieces are missing, letting you look through them and into the rooms beyond; but not really. Behind the missing metal panels are cogs, turning and catching while something white hot drips down between them in gloppy messes, lighting the hall and at the same time making everything seem darker. The stuff outlines each cog that spins on pegs that are black and oily, moving in a clicking rhythm that matches the tic tic tic that underlies everything.

“What the fuck?” you mutter out loud and lean in just a little bit to look at the heated liquid and scrunch your nose; it smells horrible. It almost hurts to stare at it through your glasses, the stuff bright and shining even though the light it casts barely seeps into the hall, globs of it getting stuck and dripping out into the floor only to sizzle and turn a dull red. The brightness of the stuff makes it hard to see past the cogs and into the next room, but you think you can see stairs. Stepping away from the wall, you stick the now thoroughly warmed water bottle back into your pouch and pull out your flashlight. Clicking it on, you look down the hall only to find that the doors that were once there are gone. Is this even the same fucking place?

“The hell am I?” Your voice seems muffled by the heat around you as you start to walk, your feet making a metallic thud on the uneven floor. Through the thin soles of your shoes, you can feel warmth through the rubber of your shoes and how they barely stick to the floor. You keep moving, praying silently as you flick your circle of light over the walls that the souls don’t melt. 

The hallway opens into a series of doors that you aren’t sure you want to look inside. The first two are bathrooms, the female and male symbols barely showing on the rusted metal doors. Neither of them seem to have heads. You keep moving, flashing the light over one of the nameplates on your right, and you barely make out the word ‘Exam’; the adjacent number is indistinguishable and the door is locked. On your left there are no nameplates, and when you poke your light in the empty door frame you see the metal framework for a desk; or you think it was a desk. It’s all warped and distorted to the point that you can’t be totally sure. The chair behind it is missing the backrest, the seat and armrests nothing but a lot of torn leather and stuffing. There is little else you can see when you swipe your light over the room and instead turn back to the exam rooms. 

The next one is unlocked, so you gently swing the door in and wait. Your phone stays silent, so you stick your head inside. Moving the light over the walls you see shelves that are mostly empty, though a few have jars holding...something. In the strange jelly like goo a bright blue eye stares out at you, the iris glassy. Quickly you look away and pay attention to what is in the center. On top of the exam table is a cage, hooks suspending some sort of meat from the top of it. In that moment you slam the door shut and decide you don’t give a flying fuck about these rooms.

You end up checking every single one of them.

The other two offices both are missing their doors, the contents inside similar to the first. The middle exam rooms door is bent at the center like something hit it hard from inside. The ringing starts softly from your phone and you hear something sharp drag over the metal inside of the door. You decide that you really do not want to even mess with whatever the fuck is in there. The other two exam rooms are also locked. 

Turning a small corner after the last exam room you find a door. Reaching for the handle you tap it gently with your fingertips and find that while it is warm it is not burning. Gripping it, you turn the handle down and push in. Stepping out your phone begins to crackle, not loudly, but enough that you have your sword unsheathed and your hands gripping the hilt tight. It hurts a little, the metal warmed through, and you have started to sweat both from the heat and nerves. Shuffling into the room you look around, one hand gripping your light tight while the other holds your sword. You really wish you could use your right arm to swing, but your shoulder is still pretty fucked up, so your dominant hand is the light bearer.

“Come out you little fuckers,” you grumble in a singsong voice. Somewhere there is the sound of cloth sliding over metal. “Ol’ uncle Davey has a bunch of life lessons to beat into you.” This room has a decent amount of red light seeping in from large windows to your right, though they are too dirty for you to see out of them; the glass grime stained and streaked with things you would rather not think about. To your left it’s all dull shadows and what looks like a receptionist station behind glass. You keep your light pointed to your left and your eyes look around the room. It looks like some sort of waiting room, lobby, place and that makes you shiver. If anything it reminds you of a hospital. You hate hospitals. So did Bro. Always said he never could trust a man that could slide a needle in you as easily as a finger. You hadn’t understood that little bit of knowledge until health class and what a prostate exam was.

Something twitches inside the large set of spider webbed windows of the receptionist area. The movement gives you the barest moment to prepare yourself before the soft body smooshes itself against the glass, eyes bright and grin wide. The puppet slides down the glass to the opening at the bottom that a receptionist would have used to slide paperwork through. Your phone is buzzing unhappily as you take a few steps closer, light back in your belt and sword ready to lob the things head off when it slides out. Right as the green capped head comes out onto the counter you swing down, separating the head from the body in a few quick hacks before kicking the thing away. One soft hand reaches out and you cut that off as well. As soon as you do the thing stops moving and just lies there; your phone goes silent. The shit that drips from the cotton fluff looks blackish as you back away and listen to your phone, waiting for more warnings, but none come. Looking through the glass you can see what must have been filing cabinets; now they are just a bunch of twisted shapes. The arm you cut off shudders on the lip of the counter and falls to the floor.

“Time to GTFO,” you whisper and turn to the large set of double doors opposite the glass. This time when you reach for the door you do it with the hem of your shirt wrapped around your hand, sword at the ready as you pull the door swiftly inwards.

One thought echoes through your head as you look out into the world.

_I’m in hell._

Heat rolls over you, making your already sweat stained clothes become almost drenched. They then dry almost immediately, the heat causing you to steam as you squint at the bright red of what you can only describe as lava. Three feet from the door and a bit of stone is all that separates you from the rest of the world that seems to consist of only molten rock. There are a few other structures that are much too far from you for you to figure out what they are; in a few areas you see hunks of stone sticking out, crumbling before your eyes; some cogs poke out of the lava mess, some moving, some not, and the sound of ticking is less uniform and much louder out here.

 _Looks like you were right._ You say silently in your head. _You really are damned._ Scanning the horizon numbly, you watch as something moves in all that lava. It looks dark against the streaks of red gold before disappearing.

 _And here is the devil himself to welcome you home._ The thing surfaces again, and it's about as large as a Great Dane. You think. It’s hard to tell when most of it’s submerged except for the tip of a snout. The only real details you can see are two eyes that look as bright gold as the lava around them and a ridge of spines that go from the tip of the snout to the tip of what you assume is a tail from the back and forth movement. The thing is making a beeline for you, so you do the only smart thing you can think of. Calmly you step back inside, push the door shut, and turn the lock with a grating sound.

“Nope.” You turn back to the lobby and head towards the other end of the room. Ten steps later and you feel your entire body tense as there is a horrendous creaking noise. You fling yourself backwards just as the ceiling concaves, metal crashing to the floor as you land on your ass and skitter backwards like a crab. A small amount of dust fills the room and you start coughing. Immediately your phone is blaring. Above you there is a dragging sound.

Two of the puppet things are lowering themselves from the ceiling, and you barely block their needles on pure instinct as you scurry up and fall into stance. They settle on top of the pile of debris that just fell and stare at you, one in shades of red while the other is in shades of yellow. Both are singed and dirty, the heat of the place taking its toll on their soft, cloth bodies. Dodging a needle and thread, you grab the strand and tug it hard to send a puppet flying towards you. There is barely a moment for its face to flash into something mimicking concern before you slash the thing in half, one part falling to your left and the other on your right. Something cool and sticky splashes on your face and arms; something you very much ignore. The second one has disappeared, but your phone is still going nuts. Doing a small turn you listen, eyes flickering through the room to find the thing. You do not expect something soft to land on your head.

A shriek starts in your throat, though it is quickly stopped as cloth arms wrap around your neck. Needles are already starting to sink into the flesh of your throat, slow and steady, like the thing could do this all day. You jam your sword back and through where you think it’s body is, feel the arms jerk, and then swing forwards. Instead of cutting it in half, the swing yanks it off your head, shallow scraps forming along your neck as you fling it hard. It sails through the air before being impaled by a metal shard, the body immediately going lax as your phone dies down.

“Holy shit,” you gasp and run a hand over your throat, pulling it back bloody as you back up towards the hall you came from. Maybe you can try that stairwell back there. You are almost to the door, eyes still on the body that is impaled and bleeding in the dull red light when you hear a bang behind you. Startled, you turn and look at the door you had come through. There is a sliding sound, like something heavy moving. Whatever was in the exam room is out and coming towards you.

Immediately you look for another way out. The only other doors in the room are now blocked by debris, and like hell if you’re going to try and go out the front. You could try and climb up to the second floor, but you could easily end up impaled. So where the fuck can you go?

The sudden bang on the front doors behind you has you racing for the glass of the reception area. Using the hilt of your sword you punch at the cobwebbed glass until it falls in like kicked teeth. Both sets of doors rattle while you do it, throwing the decapitated Cal to the floor.

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ you think in your head as you finally make a hole big enough to climb through, glass snagging at your shirt for the second time in twenty-four hours. Once you’re inside, your flashlight is out and you are searching frantically with the circle of luminesces to find something that will help you. There is a metal cover that comes down over the windows, and after a few moments you find the chain that lets you slide it down. It rattles as it falls and stops half an inch from fully closing. Good enough. You crouch and shove yourself under the counter, light snapping off as you hear one door bust in. Your phone immediately starts ringing and you yank it from your pocket. You hit the silence button quickly, but even then the thing is still vibrating like mad in your hands. It’s better than ringing, though, and while you breath heavily with your eyes closed you listen as the front doors finally give.

Something heavy comes in from the sound of it, and there is a slithering noise like leaves skittering over dead grass, only louder. There is also a clicking sound you can just barely hear as the other door continues to be banged against. Taking deep breaths, you slide out as you hear the slightest shredding of metal, and stand on your knees to look through the slight gap. Without the flashlight, you have to remove your glasses to see, the room too dark with them on, and you suddenly really wish you hadn’t looked at all.

Whatever it is, it is big, and it is built. Under scales of a color you can’t quite understand, you can see muscle rippling as the thing moves over the floor. It has to be at least seven feet long, a foot or two wide, and it looks like a fucking crocodile. Gold eyes glitter as it gets to the door that has already started to get bashed in. You expect it to ram its snout against the door or something, what it does it ten times more horrifying. 

It stands up.

Balancing itself on its hind legs and tail it quite literally stands, front claws reaching for the door before sinking in to tear at the scratches that have already been started. In a few moments, you find a second crocodile things head sticking through the hole. Its jaws open wide. How can something have that many teeth?

“Nak nak nak.” The sound almost makes you laugh, almost, because that was the last thing you expected. The sound is higher in pitch than you imagined for the things, but the grumble that follows is much more frightening.

“Nak.” The other one replies before backing up and going back onto all fours. It’s companion reaches up and actually pulls itself over the jagged metal of the hole it’s made, the scales of its underbelly making odd sounds as they scrape along the rough edges. It slides into the main room before following its counterpart. Neither stops to look around, neither seemed to care, and they leave through the busted in front door. The buzzing in your pocket dies and the sound of their ‘naking’ does as well.

“Fuck.” The word is a shuddering breath as you run a hand through your sweat soaked hair, most likely making it stand up at odd angles. Standing, you look around the dark room and find that even with your shades off you can’t see shit. So you slip them back on, and then turn on your light. You were right, these were filing cabinets at one point, now it looks like those nakadile things have got into them. Some are torn to shreds, others knocked over. Only a couple sit up against the wall unscathed. Stepping over a toppled one, you sweep your light around and notice that one of the drawers has some sort of handprint on it, the thing a cleaner spot in comparison to the rest of the room. At least, you think it’s a handprint, because holy fuck it’s huge. 

“Someone's got some yaoi hands.” You press your hand into the center of the print and marvel at how much larger it is, a good inch or two longer with each finger. “Wonder what kind of hand jobs he gives.” You murmur and pull your hand back before grabbing the handle and jerking it forwards. Inside something glints. Reaching in you pull out a key ring that holds randomly sized keys, some of which look like they had been snapped in half. 

“Well, better keep a hand on this shit.” Shoving it into your side pack, you exit the office through the slightly ajar door. Outside the small room, you find yourself on the other side of the debris pile. You can just barely see the one you had impaled through gaps in the caved-in ceiling and hanging flooring, pipes, and wires. 

Shivering despite the heat, you go through the double doors ahead of you. Behind it is a set of bathrooms and an exit door with lava coming in underneath, a small pool of it spreading inwards. The stuff has made it halfway into the room, making it smell horrible, like burning linoleum and iron; kind of like the roof when it got to be almost 110 degrees. There is just enough room for you to get around it and down the adjoining hallway. On either side of the hallway are two doors that you pay no attention to because there, in front of you, is an exit door that isn’t glowing bright red or has lava coming up out of it. You have no idea what is out there, it could be worse than in here.

_Out of the frying pan and into the oven._

“Let’s see what the oven’s like.” You mutter, sweat dripping down your nose as you go and push at the exit bar. Nothing happens. You do it again. Nothing happens. On the third shove, you see the lock and sigh. “You’re getting slower than John.” And your words have the slightest chuckle as you mumble to yourself..

The keys jingle as you start going through them. Broken. Broken. Was that one fucking bit off? Broken. Oh looks like this place has an OR. Broken. Broken. Bro-

“Nak.” You freeze as you hear the sound of something sliding on the floor before turning your head very slowly. From the other end of the hall that had been engulfed in lava you see it, the strange nakadile thing slowly rising out of the puddle. “Nak nak.” It’s looking at you. It looks hungry. Your phone barely starts to vibrate as it takes a step towards you.

_The devil will get what’s due._

“Come to collect?” The words are out before you know it, and suddenly it’s moving faster than you thought it could. Quickly you weigh your options; to your right is an elevator, the shaft empty; to your left is a staircase.

“Careful on those stairs bro.” You mutter before you flash step. The door screams as you jerk it open and start to sprint, the door staying open wide. Behind you there is a clacking of claws and a deep rumble interrupted by the strange ‘nakking’ of the beast on your heels. You hit the middle landing right when the thing slides on it’s belly to face the door, powerful legs propelling it forward and after you. Sprinting two at a time you hit the next landing and a door. Grabbing the handle you twist only to find it locked.

‘Employees Only’ stands out on the glass as you let out a sound of dismay and turn. Dropping the keys you draw your sword, keeping your light pointed down the stairs as the thing comes at you. Right as it hits the top step it goes up on its hind legs and hisses at you. Swallowing, you look it in the eyes, the gold flashing in the light your beam casts.

“You know,” you say as you shuffle to the side a bit; its head follows you. “You’ve got to watch out for those stairs.” It lunges and you and you lunge for the next flight of stairs, feeling claws just barely graze the gauze on your leg. Sprinting up the stairs you hear it coming. You have one shot.

 _Wait for it,_ you tell yourself as you see the door at the top, a big R right in the center. There is no landing. _Wait._ You pray it’s locked, and when you hit it your prayer is answered. The thing behind you makes a sound of triumph as you slide down on your butt to face it, sitting on the top step as you hold your sword. It raises up on it haunches two steps below you and hisses, gold eyes glinting. You swing once with your sword and watch as it sways back, making a naking noise that sounds like a laugh. It doesn’t see your foot when you kick at one of its short legs.

Letting out a strangled ‘Nak’ it overbalances while its tiny front legs pinwheel. Its belly is open for slicing.

“Nak nak motherfucker,” you pant and slice down with your sword to cut it from the top of it’s chest to its belly. Gold heat splashes from its insides, sizzling on the steps and making the bandages on your forearm smoke. You drop your light when a spot hits your fingers. The hot spot burns and you try and rub it off against the stairs. 

Both the light and the nakadile go down, bouncing on the steps until the nakadile lay at the bottom in a heap, your light rolling to tap against its snout. It doesn’t move. Standing, you make your way down the steps, careful not to step in the cooling heat of the things blood as you do. Both of your legs are shaking just a little when you reach the landing and see the thing is still breathing. One gold eye looks at you, dazed, while you stare down at it. Raising your sword up you watch it twitch.

“I told ya dog.” This time you flash step back when you slice its throat, grabbing your light on the way. “Those stairs a tricky.” It gurggles one last ‘Nak’ in response while you grab the keys off the floor and find the one with a 2F on it. Thankfully it isn’t broken. Putting it in the lock takes a moment, your hands shaking as you finally push into the hallway and feel the vibration in your pocket die down. Closing the door, you re-lock it and feel the key snap off in the lock. You take a step back, turn, push your back against the wall, and slide down it. Slowly you pull out a water bottle and uncap it. No one but you will know about the tears you shed while you sip from your tepid water bottle and shake like a dog.

The ticking around you kind of soothes you while you sit, and soon your legs don’t feel like rubber anymore. Standing, you finish off the bottle and put it back in your pack. You don’t know when you might get another chance to drink anything, but if you find anything drinkable in this world you’re going to need something to carry it with. That and you never leave a trail, ever; Bro had taught you that.

The hallway up here mirrors the one downstairs, though it looks like there has been some sort of fight up here. Some of the walls are broken, cogs spread out along the floor. There are weirdly colored puddles that you catch in your flashlight beam. Some are blue, some purple, others look green. It’s fucking weird. 

“The painters sure as hell had fun up here.” You run your light over the walls and see a hand print. It looks very familiar even if it's a striking teal color this time, much more defined than the one pressed into the scorched metal downstairs. You press your hand against it and find that the stuff on the wall is still a bit sticky. With a grimace you wipe your hand on the warm metal, leaving your own barely there smear of a hand print.

“Fucking yaoi hands,” you mutter again when you see another hand print, the palm wider than this one you just touched though the fingers are shorter. It’s still freaking huge. Leaving the hallway with the two ruined rooms, you find two more bathrooms that are the last place you want to go even though your body suddenly needs to relieve itself. Light and sword out, you enter the men’s, note the lack of vibration with your phone, and use the bathroom. The urinals are rusted and yellowing, and when you piss into the one closest to the door it actually steams. The taps produce something black and oily, and you decide personal hygiene can wait. 

The hallway to your left as you walk out is missing the floor just after a gaping hole in the wall to the right of it. Looking down it you can see the debris from earlier. You also see something that makes it hard for you to tell if you should smile or scream. There is a nakadile eating one-half of the puppet you cut in half, and another one is on its hind legs eating the one you had impaled.

“Cal-cabobs,” you murmur. “Yuck.” Backing up a bit you head through the hole and look at more of the strange paint all over the place. There are other things in here too that make you want to gag, including more crows, and some of them aren’t even in their cages anymore. On one table there is a nakadile, the body opened up wide, blood a dark black and it’s guts look like they are made out of stone. You pick your way through the the room as your light flicks over it. There is broken glass, wood, and fractured metal everywhere along with all those strange colors. Blue, green, teal, and purple; black feathers dot everything. Going through a hole in the wall that leads to the next room, you freeze. There are three puddles in this room, one of each color, except purple. There is also some sort of club sitting in the middle of all of it, metal shining dully. It’s bigger than your sword. You don’t even think about touching it.

Following the colors with your light, you see a set of large footprints leaving out of the door, a trail of blue and green behind them, drops of teal on top of the two tracks. Kneeling, you look at the footprints. They are almost comically huge.

“Yaoi hands and clown feet,” you say and try to chuckle even though there is no mirth to your words. “This guy has to be one goofy looking motherfucker.” Standing, you follow the trail because really what else can you do? There is no other way out of this second room besides the door, and like hell you can go back the way you came. When you step through the doorway, you end up stepping some of the paint and it sticks to your shoe. You try and scrape it off on the floor, but instead, you just collect feathers on your shoes. Looks like the paint's not all that old.

Back in the hall you continue to follow the drag marks, see smears of teal on the wall from hand prints, and they are higher than your head. Looking up you notice what looks like some strange gouges in the ceiling, letting you see the cogs turning in the metal above you. They are evenly spaced, continual, and all you can picture is something with horns walking down this hall.

_Maybe the devil really does live here._

The colors disappear through a door with the sign for ‘stairs’ next to it. Reaching for the knob you grab and twist, only to find that it is locked. Pulling out the ring of keys you flip through them. When you get the 2F key the jagged broken edge gives you a mocking smile.

“Fuck.” You grunt and look around. To your surprise you see something glowing. Lifting your light, you realize that what you are seeing is none other than an elevator button. More precisely a button that points down.

“Think I’ve earned the right to be a bit of a fat ass,” you try to joke, but again there is no humor in your words. Pushing the button you leave a smear of green and blink. Looking back at the door you realize that the handle is smeared in it.

Rubbing your hand on a patch of wall, you wait for the elevator to arrive, and when it does you almost don’t enter. It looks rusted, worn, and the walls look like they are made from fucking chicken wire; you can see the inside of the shaft for christ sake. You stare at it until the doors start to close before flash stepping in.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Only one button on the button panel is lit, and it has a nice big B at the bottom. You hit it without hesitation. For a moment nothing happens, then you start moving at a snail’s pace, inching downwards as you lean against the wire walls. Closing your eyes you listen to metal clink and chink while you are lowered down into who the fuck knows where. 

The scream takes you by surprise as your eyes fly open and you turn your head. A giant gear is coming into view, and there are some horrible sounds coming from behind it. It’s what you think it would sound like if you hit a watermelon with a mallet.

The screams are becoming sobs as you look through the grinding gears and catch a glimpse of something big, something grey, barely lit from the ever present lava and your light as you shine it through. The elevator stalls and the thing turns around. For a moment you hear crows and feel feathers on your face, then they are gone and all you see is purple. Three purple lines and bright purple eyes. You stare at it for a moment, unable to see everything at once with the gear in the way, but you see enough to scare you in the few seconds before the elevator jerks and you suddenly drop. You grip the mesh as your stomach relocates to your shoes and your heart goes to your throat, but the machine catches itself at the last moment in the sudden fifteen foot drop and you find yourself staring out of a door. You can’t get out fast enough.

The doors behind you slide shut with a grating sound as you step into a new hallway, phone going nuts in your pocket even if it is still silent. The entire wall before you is nothing but mesh, and behind it are two rather large nakadiles. They are tearing apart what looks like a Lil Cal and you just keep on going. The hall you go down is nothing more than a series of cages. Some are empty, some have puppets stuffed inside them, others nakadiles. A couple are painted awkward colors that look too bright for the rest of the place, or smearings of what look looks like tar. Most of them are just stuffed with crows.

The ticking down here seems louder, like a continual beat as you make your way down towards a large open room that is better lit than any other area you have been in, but it's also hotter. Sweat drips down your neck and soaks your shirt, sizzling as it drips onto the floor. As you get closer to the room you shut off your light and find that your steps have fallen in with the ticking. You mildly wonder what kind of giant clock has to be going to make that noise when you learn just that.

The room is huge, cavernous, and the light is coming from the lava streams on the far wall that pours into a series of grates on the floor. On the ceiling is a giant clock, all wrought iron and rust with dirty glass between the roman numerals; the time reading 11:53 if you’re reading it right, and just below the six is a pendulum. Below the pendulum is a person. You’re running before you know it, not realizing until you are almost to them that this isn’t a person. People don’t have gray skin, or giant fucking ram horns coming out of their heads.

“Whoa...fuck.” You come to a skidding halt, hand on your sword hilt as the thing turns to look at you. The phone in your pocket has stopped vibrating. Running your eyes over it, you guess it's female. Its got tits, at least you think they are, but you can’t be sure. Her face also looks just kinda...feminine is the best way you can describe it.

“Oh, hello,” she says to you calmly, and with each passing swing of the pendulum, you watch as it gets closer and closer to cutting her right down the middle from the tip of her head to the groin. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” She says it happily, like there isn’t a giant fucking knife swinging barely an inch from her nose.

“Uh.” You respond and step forwards. There is nothing on her wrists, or her feet, or anything on her body to keep her there. “What are you doing?” The confusion in your voice is more than prevalent as she turns to look back up at the pendulum.

“Dying.” Her response is as easy as if she was tell you her eyes are brown. Or rust brown. Why are they such a weird color?

“Uh, yeah, I can see that. Why?” You fidget while you watch the giant swinging knife.

“Because I need to. Their waiting for me.” The pendulum drops lower and on the next swipe splits her nose.

“Whoa there.” You grab her arm and jerk her, getting a little gasp as she goes half way off the table.

“Stop that,” she snaps and pulls her hand away, repositioning herself and getting a second slit on her nose. A drop of blood that is the darkest red you have ever seen drips from the wound. “I’ll be late.”

“I think your funeral is the one thing you want to be late for,” you reply and grab her arm again. Her palm presses against your chest and suddenly you are up in the air. “Whoa, hey, put me down!” You cry as you flail. “I’m trying to fucking save you!” This is so wrong, what is her problem? How can she want to die?

“I don’t need saving,” she says simply with a smile but lowers you. “I have people I need to meet, and if I don’t die on time then three others will do so in my stead. Besides,” she turns to look at the clock above her. “It’s not like I will really be gone.”

You stand there gaping at her before you close your mouth and swallow. There is anger in the pit of your stomach because she’s wrong. When you die, you’re gone, end of story, and everyone else gets stuck picking up the fucking pieces. You want to tell her that, but she cuts in before you can say it.

“I’m Aradia by the way.” She says it much too cheerfully for a soon to be dead girl.

“Dave.” You’re barely able to get the word out, your throat feeling tight.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dave,” she say and smiles at you again, turning so that she can face you; the pendulum slices her cheek. There is enough blood on the tip of her nose now that she looks like some sort of fucked up Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, just has the wrong horns. “I’m sure you are I are going to be great friends.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you snap at her. “You’re about to fucking die! It takes more than five minutes to become friends!” She just chuckles and looks back upwards. Again you go to grab her, but her palm is out and it’s like there is some sort of wall between you.

“Dying does mean ending, Dave,” she chides. “It just means a few minutes of pain and then you move on. Body or no body, it doesn’t matter.” You stare at her opened mouthed. She cocks her head like she’s listening to someone for a moment. “He’ll be here soon.” And this time Aradia does sound a little sad. “You probably don’t want to be here when he gets here.” 

“What are you even talking about?” You go to grab her arm again. The wall dissipates and when you grab her she grabs for you, your hand's intertwining. 

“Time will tell you,” she says and smiles again. “My time in this body is up, but that doesn’t mean my time is up.” You just stare at her. “Though could I ask one favor?” Numbly you nod your head, brain too confused to keep up with what is happening. “Would you mind staying here with me until I’m done? I will admit this whole dying thing is a bit scary, even if I’m ready for it and all, but it would be nice to have someone I can feel here with me when it happens.” The sentence makes no sense.

“Or you could get off the slab.” 

She just laughs, and it's high and clear. You like it.

“I like you, Dave,” she squeezes your hand. “I’m glad we’re going to be friends.” Then something chimes, deep and thrumming that runs through your bones.

_One._

“I think I would have liked you too.” 

_Two._

“Oh there will be plenty of time to get to know me.” 

_Three._

She’s still smiling even as the thing suddenly dips low enough to split her face in half, she doesn’t even scream, but the hand in yours tightens. “All the time you need.” 

_Four._

“Though none of the time you want.”

_Five._

It drops and this time it slices her skull full in half. The hand gripping yours goes tight for a moment.

_Six._

Then suddenly lax. You close your eyes as rust red starts flowing. It's getting fucking everywhere. For some odd reason, you want to cry for this strange girl you just met, howl and scream because whatever just happened was in no way fair.

_Seven._

“Though you really should be running.” You aren’t sure where her voice comes from when you look at her. The pendulum slices through her rib cage.

_Eight._

“He’s coming.” There is a sound down the hall, something that sounds like a honk. You can see her guts.

_Nine._

“That way.” And when did her other hand move to point behind her? 

_Ten._

Looking up you see a door, see the small window in it, and in that small window you see her; waving. 

_Eleven._

You bolt for it, and hit it hard, flying through the door.

_Twelve._

The silence rings through you as your eyes go wide and you look down a flight of stairs, balance wavering at the very top step.

_I told you about those stairs bro._

You close your eyes as you fall and wait for the impact.

\-------------------

_He can’t be dead, he can’t. He promised that if he couldn’t come for the dress rehearsal he would come tomorrow. He told you he had plenty of time, that he wouldn’t miss this one. It was the whole reason he switched his deal date._

‘Gotta hear my little man spin don’t I?’

_He had to come, the song was his Christmas present. He had to._

_“Bro?” The crows laugh at you as you kneel and reach under the sheet, grabbing his hand. Sweat drips down your neck as you look at the red blossoms._

_One to the head, two to the chest._

_How can it be so hot in December? How can his hand feel so cold?_

_“Bro?”_

_The crows keep laughing._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A call back to the original games, let's see if you catch it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, sorry for any mistakes; grammar or otherwise.
> 
> Chapter map is here. : http://leticheecopae.tumblr.com/image/47123842306

You don’t wake up slowly but with a jerk and sit bolt upright. Next moment you are flat on your back again, head spinning while your stomach does a few hundred backflips. Everything is twirling and you can’t seem to get your breath back. Even with something hard beneath your body it still feels like you’re falling. Breathing deep, you stare up into the grey sky and taste moisture on your tongue. Whatever you are lying on it’s cold, hard, just a little damp, and uneven. It makes your shoulder ache and your cuts and bruises throb. You don’t like it. 

 

“Okay,” you say with a deep breath that brings the world back into semi focus behind your glasses. “You can do this, John, just take it slow.” So you do, sitting up with the help of your arms instead of just jerking yourself upright. All of your muscles scream, the entirety of your body feeling as if you had been laying still for much too long with every muscle stiff. Both of your legs simultaneously feel like jelly and rocks, as if you had been running a long time. Wait, hadn’t you been running?

 

“Karkat!” You bolt upright to your feet. Dizziness takes over and you end up almost falling. You lurch to the side and grip the side of whatever wall is in front of you. “Karkat, where are you!?” Everything tilts as you grip the wall for dear life, feeling smooth stone under your fingers as you try to breathe normally again. He was here, you know he was here, he had to be! Lifting your head you look around again, searching for any sign of the strange spider creatures, for the thing with the chainsaw, and most of all, Karkat. 

 

The world finally stops spinning and you can look around properly. Fog surrounds you, what else is new, though it is thin enough that you can see most of your surrounds. It’s some sort of courtyard, and currently you are in the middle of the pool with a death grip on the five foot mark. Thankfully you weren’t any futher down, otherwise you would have been laying in water.

 

“How-” You turn your head in every direction. “How the fuck?” This makes no sense. You had just been in the apartments, in a fucking _dungeon_ for christ sake. Even if that had been some sort of dream you should be waking up in the middle of a hallway, not outside the apartment. A shiver goes down your spine, and it’s not just because of the cool water sinking into your clothing or the icy wind that’s making your clothing freeze and stick to your body. 

 

You take a step towards the exit to the pool and kick something. You find your hammer on the ground and your flashlight up against the side of the pool. You pick both up and put them back into your belt. Then, on shaking legs, you make your way to the steps of the pool.

 

Once out of the pool, you look for a way out, and you can tell already there is no way in hell you are going back into the apartment buildings. You walk around the courtyard, looking for a way out that isn’t through a broken in window or one of the apartment side doors. There are apartments on your left, your right, and you can’t even tell if some of them are ones you had even been in before. It’s too hard to keep everything straight with waking up in a place you’ve never seen; all you know is that on three sides of you are fucking apartment buildings. 

 

Which leaves one place left.

 

There is a downed section of a brick fence behind the pool, and though it brushes up against one of those damn apartments, you’re okay with this. Climbing over brick and debris you find yourself in a clogged ally. To your left is a large van that looks like the whole thing is reinforced. From multiple viewings of different action movies you immediately recognize it as one of those armored cars used to transport bank money. 

 

“Someone was good at parking.” There is barely any room on either side of the car, the mirrors themselves barely half an inch from the walls. The thing takes up the entire ally, and while you could possibly climb over it, but that seems like a stupid idea with how damp the metal looks.

 

You turn to look down the other end of the ally.

 

“How in the fuck?” The other end of the ally is clogged with debris and full size industrial trash bins that are blocking the way, almost as if the storm had thrown them about like lego blocks. Either that or the assholes who moved the things didn’t know how the hell to put down a dumpster. So that leaves option number three, and you are not necessarily happy with option number three. To your right is a large building, and the back exit door is flung wide; debris filling the entryway. 

 

“I’m going to regret this aren’t I...” Stepping over broken limbs and mud, you find something you weren’t expecting. This isn’t another apartment but some sort of office building, with doors lining the walls as you come inside. These doors aren’t thrown open like you expect, but shut tight. Walking towards one you see a name plate, a Exec. Dir. Mayor stamped on the dulled metal. To your right are a couple of bathrooms, to your left are more, what seem to be, offices. Following them you find one room open; records. While you would usually not give a damn, you see two sets of boxes on the center table, and on one of them peaks your interest immediately.

 

Walking in, you find that most of the file boxes are missing, probably moved to a more secure location before the storms hit. There are only a few left, and the only two that aren’t on the shelves belong to your family and someone else. Shuffling through the box you pull out a few files. One of them has your name on it.

 

“Birth certificate, social records, holy shit I forgot about Midwich,” you chuckle as you look at the old school record. There are also a couple of other things in your name. One is a bank account you didn’t even know you had.

 

“Holy shit that’s a lot of zeros...” and there are. On a few lines you see withdrawals, and in a moment you realize that what you are looking at are records of your college fund. Each one has your father's signature neatly printed next to it, the letters slightly grainy from the fax. Never did you realize he had saved up so much money for you.

 

Going through the folder you find all of the deposits. The most recent was during your last birthday from your fathers account, and there is a note about when the next deposit is going to be made. Another name joins it; _Jane C. Egbert,_ it says below your fathers. Next to each birthday is the same five hundred dollars a years. Her own signature has a loopiness that reminds you of your Dad’s. You remember seeing it before, on birthday and Christmas cards. They are the only thing you ever got from your Nana, and probably the only way you communicated after you moved away. 

 

“Sorry about Christmas Nana.” You whisper and gently trace the cursive J of her name before shutting the file and slipping it back inside the box, a surge of guilt coming over you. For the first time since you could remember, you forgot to send her a Christmas card, your father not around to remind you before you had come back for Christmas break. Then you had opened hers on Christmas morning and felt a pang of guilt. Your father never asked if you had sent her one; you were pretty sure he knew. Multiple times you told yourself that you were going to send her a thank you card. But, you put it off, revealing in christmas break with Dave, and then school started again. She had died before her next birthday.

 

The other files are about property and other such things. You find what you assume is your Nana’s will in one file, and run your eyes over it. It’s quick and to the point.

 

Most of her money is to go towards Alchemilla Hospital, her hospice worker Mrs. Paint, and then a fraction is to be used towards her funeral costs. Skipping over most you look for your father’s name.

 

_To my son I leave him his childhood home and everything in it; all ghosts included._

 

“The hell, Nana?” you mumble and turn to the last paragraph.

 

 _And to my Grandson, John, I leave the remaining money to be put into his account in increments on each birthday until it runs out. To him I also give my love; and my forgiveness._

 

There is a clenching in your belly as you read the last line and shut the file quickly. How would she have known about you feeling guilty? With a shudder you look through the other files and find that they are all about properties and other things that you don’t have any interest in. Maybe in a few years they will mean something to you, but not now. At least you know that this was the kind of stuff your father had to deal with when he came up. He must have been so bored being up here alone, going through these papers. 

 

Turning to the next box you see a completely different name. _Lalonde_ is handwritten in bold letters over the box, and the files don’t look nearly so neat. You take the file on top off and flick it open. Inside is a series of receipts to the Cedar Grove Sanitarium for one Roxy Lalonde. The most recent one came from her more than dwindling bank account only two months ago. It doesn't say why they stopped. In the box there are a few other things, most of them about bank repossessions, funeral costs, and other such items that quickly lose your interest. Tossing the files back into the box you go back into the hall and out into what looks like the main lobby. There are teller boxes against the wall and _Silent Hill Savings Bank_ printed above it in faded block letters. The front windows, shatter proof though they are, still have fine spider web cracks throughout from flying debris. 

 

“Please be open,” you plead to the air as you make a beeline for the doors and grip the handles. No such luck. “Son of a bitch.” Even with the windows cracked as they are there is no way you are going to be able to beat the window in with your hammer. Keys, you need keys, but who the fuck would leave keys in a locked building? With a growl you shake the doors to the bank, pissed at the fact that they are the only things keeping you locked inside. 

 

“God damn it!” You kick at the doors, your hammer joining the fray as you do, beating on the metal frames as you feel your anger and frustration start to bubble over. Are you going insane? How could this all happen? Where the fuck is your Dad?

 

Glass explodes next to your left ear, causing you to hit the floor with a cry. All your ears can hear is a high static ringing, and when you put your over your left ear you feel something wet and sticky. 

 

“Take that you foul thing!” The yell is barely audible and you can’t recognize the voice through your ringing right ear; the left one is useless as it screams static into your brain. There is another shot and you roll away from the door, more glass showering over you as you go, the bullet taking out the second window. More shots fire behind you as you cower against the wall, keeping your arms over your head as someone fires bullet after bullet into the doors and windows. Moments later and there is a hammering on the metal and broken glass, harsh and hard. You attempt to scramble up, because fuck if you are just going to lay there and wait for whoever this crazy bastard is to shoot you in the face. 

 

You’ve barely gotten into a crawling position when the doors are wrenched open, metal grating and glass clattering. There are pistols pointed at your head, at your eyes, and they must be making pretty good targets because even to you they feel like dinner plates in your face. No air passes your lips as you stare and wait for the two black holes to light up and blow you away. You’re going to die in a bank that you were trying to escape from, and while Dave would probably find some sort irony in that, all you find is a strange calmness that fills you as you wait.

 

“John,” your name is horribly muffled by the pain in your ears as your eyes finally jerk up to see that the guns belong to a very familiar face. Oddly, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Jake looks like he’s been to hell and back with the blood splashed over his body, holes in his clothes and a large amount of gauze and bandage wrapped around one of his forearms. It looks like he’s been attacked by wild animals.

 

“John, my boy, you’re alright!” he says it loud enough to make your ears ache as he walks right up to you and pulls you straight up. “Goodness, looks like you’ve been in a spot of trouble.” You want to respond to that, but you can’t with how hard you're gritting your teeth. He had pulled you up by your bad shoulder, the one that you twisted over the fence, and it feels like you landed on it too with how tender it is under his hands. “Have you found your father, lad?” 

 

“No,” you wheeze and shake your head. The ringing isn’t going away. Jake must suddenly realize he’s hurting you because he steps back, hands completely off as you stumble and slump into the wall.

 

“Oh no.” You can barely hear him in your good ear. “I didn’t...not again.” He rushes forwards and goes to his knees. Suddenly his hands are everywhere and you don’t have the strength to shove him off. “Oh thank God,” he mumbles and sits back on his heels. “Thought I may have shot you there for a moment.” The grin he gives you makes you want to punch him. Instead, you pull your hand away from your ear to show him the blood; the reaction is about the same.

 

“Oh Christ,” he jumps back up and jerks your head, making you hiss as he looks over it. “Looks like I may have nicked you,” and god damn his voice is like a hammer on your brain. It’s not really a sound in your left ear, but a pressure. “Or busted a few blood vessels in your ear.” Your hiss is only audible in one ear as his pinky probes and you jerk away with a cry that he ignores.

 

“Yep, slight damage there, though since you were so far away I doubt it’s anything permanent.” He claps you on the shoulder, and the only reason you don’t go down is because he keeps it there. “Just don’t go listening to those blasted headphones all your kids enjoy so much now-a-days and you’ll be fine.” Then he beams at you and you just look at him in utter amazement. How could anyone be this fucking dense?

 

“Anyways,” he adds and looks behind him. “I think it would be best if we continued on, don’t you?” He steps back out the door and there isn’t much you can do but follow him. Insane or not, being around someone who can use a gun sounds like a better idea than going around alone while barely being able to walk. Following him out into the street, you stumble just a little bit, body tilting as you walk. Someone once told you that your entire center of balance relied on your inner ears, and currently, you believe them. Everything is wavering under your feet as you follow Jake. You aren’t horribly sure where he’s taking you, but wherever you’re going it smells like rotting things and mildew. 

 

Looking around, you find that you’re walking into some sort of park, and what you are smelling is actually the rotting plants that had been uprooted; many of them are covered in shades of black and green moss. Flies are everywhere, flying in and out of your vision as you swat at them. You only see them when they get close, not being able to see more than a few feet around you in the fog this close to the lake. Keeping Jake in sight is a bit of a chore with how quickly he can move.

 

“Where are we going?” Your voice sounds muffled, almost like you’re hearing it from the back of your throat instead of your actual ears. Jake is striding ahead, pistols at the ready as he looks for anything. 

 

“Just up here to the benches,” he calls back. “There are only two ways into this garden, and we need to set that ear of yours to rights.” Turning the corner of a destroyed hedge you find the benches he is talking about. They look out over the lake, all of them with mold growing on their undersides and legs. The fog is white washing everything over the water and you can only see what comes up right against the stone, and even that is just the tips of waves. From what you can tell, Taluca Lake is overly full, the storms having filled it to flooding, and now it looks like it is just starting to empty. No wonder roads and bridges had washed out.

 

“Now, take a seat there, my boy,” Jake instructs. You do as he says. The stone is chilly and a bit wet, seeping into the cloth of your already damp shorts and making you shiver. Once again you find that your choice in wearing shorts was a poor one, and that your legs are freezing in the fog. At least Jake’s jacket is keeping your torso warm, mostly.

 

Jake sits next to you and begins to inspect your ear. Hisses escape through your teeth as he looks it over, his head darting up now and again when he hears something you can’t. You can’t hear a lot right now anyways. The right ear is still ringing slightly, though it is picking up sounds at least, allowing you to hear the sickening slap of water on stone as it slides up over the lip of the wall. The other ear is still silent, a buzzing like a million bees going on deep near your brain, making your eyes cross and water while your body feels like it is going to topple over.

 

From Jake’s pack comes some sort of covering. Gauze, bandages, and cleaning wipes are set out on both his and your laps as he goes about cleaning the wound he caused. With a hiss you do your best not to jolt away from him.

 

“Looks like you’ve been in your share of scuffles today too,” he says, voice muffled on your right side and barely there on the left.

 

“Yeah well...” you reply and swallow. Has he seen the imps too? Have large, horribly rank spider people been crawling out of the shadows to eat him?

 

“The damn hounds have been on my heels all day,” he cuts in and you feel yourself slump a bit. Hounds, great, at least whatever he’s been running into sounds normal. “Ghastly creatures don’t you think? I’ve never seen something’s head split open like that.” Well...okay maybe whatever it is isn’t that normal.

 

“Hounds?” you question and jerk as he presses against your ear with a cleaning cloth. “Ow, ow, fuck.”

 

“There, there,” he says and pats your shoulder, “It will feel better soon.” It feels like he’s packing your head with cotton, and fuck maybe that’s exactly what he’s doing. You can’t really see what is going on since it’s being done to the side of your head, but you will admit that the pressure he is adding is helping stabilize you a bit, even if it makes your eyes water. This has to be one of the most painful things you have ever experienced.

 

“Alright, all done there, John.” He pulls his hands away and you let out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. It makes your head go fuzzy for a moment before things return to focus. It still hurts, a lot, but at least you aren’t falling flat on your face.

 

“Thanks,” you mumble at him, touching gingerly at the dressing on the side of your head.

 

“Well it was my fault,” Jake chuckles and puts the stuff back in his pack. You prod at the side of your head a bit, not quite wanting to stand up even if your butt is going oddly numb from the cold stone. 

 

“Any luck on getting over the water?” Jake asks you. 

 

“What’s it look like?” you snap. Silence permeates between the two of you before you heave a sigh and rub your hands over your face, fingers sliding under the frames of your glasses to rub at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s been...well it’s been a fucking weird day is what it’s been.” You wipe away a clump of mud on your lenses and find it does little. The glass has streaks of dirt and grime on which makes it a bit difficult to see, but with how grimy you’re feeling you doubt your shirt is going to be much help. When they are plucked from your face it startles you, and when you turn you can just make out Jake wiping a cloth over them. 

 

“I can understand,” he says solemnly. “Whatever is going on in this town, it’s not right.” Handing back your glasses he sighs and says, “I can only imagine what you’ve been through today with those beasts running about.” Silence falls over you both again for a few moments before Jake stands.

 

“Well, I guess it would be best if we got along now,” he reaches out a hand for you to take, helping you up off the bench. You’re still a bit tipsy, but it’s not as bad. 

 

“I’m afraid I’ve been holding out on you, John,” he says, not letting go of your hand. Everything in you locks up, suddenly waiting for him to punch you or something; at least that’s what it feels like you're waiting for. “I have a boat tied down by a dock near my home.” You immediately want to wrench your hand out of his grip. All this time searching and you could have just gone to a dock? No, fuck him, but he’s stronger than he looks and you can’t pull away.

 

“Let go,” you grunt and tug, the pain in your head making you tilt again

 

“Now listen,” he says as you pull and stumble. “I didn’t know if I could trust you and your friend that well,” he says sternly. “There are plenty of people out there that will steal what is yours no questions asked, just pull it right out from under your nose.” His fingers tighten and it’s hard for you not to wiggle just because of the pain. “I am now realizing that what is going on here makes property worth no more than a pile of dogs droppings sitting out in the sun to bake.” Finally, you stop moving, panting as you want to collapse back on the bench. How can someone so old be so fucking strong?

 

“Now listen, John.” He pulls a key from his pocket with his other hand. “I haven’t just been sleeping down at the house. It’s too hard without water. There’s a hotel just across the street called ‘Jack’s Inn’. Now this key,” he shoves it into your hand. “Is to room number one-o-nine, my room. If you go in there you’ll find my boat key in the suitcase. To get to that boat you have to go straight down Nathan avenue until you find a forked path. The left one leads to the community boathouse, the right one a scenic view. Take the _right_ one.” 

 

You’re just staring at him as he says all this, listening to him tell you how the boat is tied up to an old dock. That he had put it there before the storm had come and destroyed the boathouse, and in the process all the boats inside. The only reason his survived was it was in a small cove that the debris had a hard time reaching.

 

“Now listen, because this is important.” You try and focus despite having only one ear and the fact that you are still utterly pissed at this man. “When you start going do _not_ head towards the lighthouse. Follow the compass straight north, and when you do make sure-” Even with your messed up ears you hear the howls, high and multiplying. Jake freezes, eyes going wide.

 

“The bastards have found me,” he murmurs and you just stare. “Go,” and he pushes you towards the other end of the garden, away from the way you came. “I’ll hold off the beasts, you go find your father.” His guns are already out as you hear another howl.

 

“The fu- Jake come on,” You say instead and feel your phone begin to vibrate. “You said yourself it’s across the street, we can both-”

 

“Too fast,” Jake replies and you watch him slide out the clips only to shove them back in. “You’ll never reach it with that ear if I don’t shoot their numbers down.” Another howl. This isn’t right, you may not like this guy, but you don’t want him dead either. Your phone is buzzing harder in your pocket.

 

“Ja-”

 

“Run Jade!” The first thing comes streaking around the hedge, and you don’t get where Jake got hound from. It’s almost dog like, sure, but when it bellows a howl as it skids around the corner it’s body opens from the base of it’s throat to the tip of its snout. Jake shoots down the gaping maw and it goes down. Dirty white fur is splashed red as it writhes and twitches, Jake shooting it again. It’s not a hound, it looks like a fucking wolf.

 

Two more come around the corner, mouths opened wide, and you bolt. It’s hard to run with your ear making you want to drift to the left, but you fucking manage. Behind you, there are gunshots and howls that make your stomach clench and make you want to vomit. Turning the corner of the garden, you can barely see the debris as you run past it, hitting the main road and going straight.

 

Jack’s Inn sits dark and waiting as you rush past the main office. The pain in your head is staggering, making you want to shut your eyes as you turn around the main office and find the doors to the rooms. You keep your eyes as open as you can, the howls following you through the fog, muffled though they are. It takes you a minute to realize that you're having a hard time seeing not because of the fog but because your eyes are watering. The wind is picking up.

 

Room one-o-nine is near the end, the numbers a dull marker that beckon you to push the key into the lock. Behind you the howls continue, muffed, and there are gunshots. Wind presses hard against your back and you do your best to see through the hair that is wiping before your eyes, bangs obscuring your vision. Where the fuck had this damn wind come from? Just second ago it had been calm, and now, as you battle to see, you feel it sharp and cold on the back of your legs and neck.

 

The door knob finally turns and you fall inside, the wind pushing you in fast as you tumble. It’s so loud, so very loud, and it makes your head ache. Turning you slam the door shut and grip your head between your hands, eyes slitted as you look around the room. The wind is absolutely howling outside, covering up all other noise. Stumbling you see a bag on the bed, thrown open with items half hazardly tossed about. 

 

Dashing to it you start throwing things. Most of it is clothes, and when you have all of them scattered over the bed’s covers your hands delve into pockets. Inside one you find a gun, an old revolver that you shove into your belt without a second thought. Dipping your hand back in you come back with a hand full of bullets you add to your pouch. The next pocket holds nothing, and then out of the third you pull a key with a fishing bobber connected to the end. It sounds like the wind is trying to take off the places siding as you slide the key into your pocket, ears ringing.

 

You barely pick up on a cracking sound that makes you whip around to look at the wall to your left, and your eyes go wide. There is a hole, small and black, forming; wind whistling through it. In seconds you are on the bed, doing the only thing you can think of. The sheets come down no problem as you fling them over yourself, wiggling to get under the stuff on the bed. Wind howls around the room, tugging at your blankets, throwing things about. You press your hands to your ears and wish it away; will it away. 

 

Somewhere, beneath the wind, there is laughter.

 

\----

 

_“And that is why you keep the closet door closed.” Nana’s voice is spooky still, you don’t like that voice, but you were the one who asked for a scary story._

_“Th-that’s not true, is it?” You ask her as she tucks you in under the blankets, a smile on her face._

_“Well now, why would it be in a book if it weren’t true?” She leans in and kisses your forehead. That isn’t what you wanted to hear, that’s scary. Tears sting your eyes._

_“Oh, John,” she sighs and pushes your hair back. “Don’t worry, it’s not real, and even if it were,” she stands and heads for the door out of your room, back a bit bowed as she holds the old book. “As long as you hide under the covers, nothing will get you.”_

_When she turns out the light you want to scream, but she doesn’t like it when you do that. So instead you pull the covers up over your head and shake. You wish Daddy were home. Daddy never tells you scary stories, even when you want them._

 

\----

 

You wake up slowly, head fuzzy and your shoulder throbbing dully under you. Where are you again? Sitting up you put your hand to your head, feel the way your shades hang from your ears, and quickly right them. Light trickles in from some sort of window well, just bright enough that you can tell you’re at the bottom at a set of stairs, a set with a U bend. How the hell does that even work? Shifting, you hiss and feel your right shoulder move with a sickening slick sound. Fuck... It’s popped back out, at least that’s what it feels like, and you need to fix that. 

 

It’ll be hard doing it yourself, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Laying down, you use your left hand, you straightening your right arm before bending it 90 degrees at the elbow. You lay your forarm on your stomach and grab tight on your elbow. Pulling down and turning it outwards, you feel the shoulder move and bite your lip. Without someone else pulling on your arm, it takes a while for you to create enough traction between pulling with your arm and pushing into the ground with your shoulder, but after a few moments there is a pop that makes your stomach jolt with pain and nausea as you bite into your lower lip. You bring the arm back towards your chest and breathe for a moment. God, you forgot how bad that could hurt, and it had only been 24 hours since you did it last time. At least you hadn’t screamed this time.

 

Sitting up slowly, you let the world tilt a bit as you look up the stairs. With just the small amount of light coming from what looks to be a very clogged storm window you can just make out the area around you. Somehow you managed not to fall on your sword, thank god for small miracles, and your flashlight is a dark cylinder on the ground. Picking it up, you stand and feel the bruises that are blossoming over you.

 

“Fucking stairs,” you murmur and start climbing upwards. After moving a bit you feel just a little less like shit, your muscles stretching, and when you reach the door that says GF you heave a sigh of relief. Pushing the door open with your left arm, you are greeted by the muted grey light coming through the exit doors. Turning you look down the hall and find that you are right back where you started, the bathrooms at one end with water seeping down the hall instead of magma. For a moment you think a Nakodile is about to come around the corner again, but the place is silent.

 

“Just knocked myself out,” you tell yourself softly. “Fucking Egderp move.” The keys come out of your pouch and it takes you only a minute to find the key you need, you don’t dwell on how you managed to get them. As soon as you step out into the coolness of the fog you take a deep breath. It’s cold, and wet, and so very wonderful after whatever fucking fever dream you just had. It’s cooling the sweat on your skin and you enjoy every icy particle that touches your body. Looking around you find yourself in some sort of ally, the main road to your right. Right you go.

 

“Well shit.” The roads covered in debris as you go left on the main road, feeling your legs stretch. The building on your left is some sort of bank, and it looks like the storm did a number on the doors. They are shattered all to hell, the metal pock marked. 

 

“Bullet proof but not branch proof huh?” you murmur before stopping and inching a little closer. “Or maybe not.” Those pock marks aren’t from trees. Stepping closer you look down and see small drops of blood, not alot, but enough to show that someone was here. Carefully you make your way through the door and look around inside. It’s pretty easy to see someone got hurt, blood dripped on the floor, and there is one very familiar footprint in all that dripped blood.

 

“John?” The howling makes you freeze. You can feel the vibrations start in your pocket. Tentatively, you go back to the door and look out. White gray blurs shoot past, appearing and disappearing in the fog for brief seconds. You count several before you inch back out. That’s John’s footprint, has to be. Looking down you feel your heart hammer as you look at the blood droplets. What if the dogs could smell him? After the bloody boy walking in the fog. 

The gunshot startles you.

 

“John!” You take off after the dogs and the gunshots. There is a park of some sort just a few yards away, a rank stench coming off it as the wind suddenly hits you. It pushes the fog away and you spin, looking through the swirling clouds. A running figure up the road appears briefly before the fog sucks it in again. You barely make out dark hair and tan shorts before it’s gone, and you know exactly who that is.

 

“JOHN!” You yell as loud as you can and take off after him. There are more howls and gunshots coming from your right, which you thoroughly ignore. Where did he go? Where the fuck did he go? Looking at the ground you can’t find any blood.

 

“John?” The answer you get is a needle whistling past your head. You move, heading up the road. “John!” Another needle is your answer, and you can’t see where they are coming from. He didn’t go this way, you know he didn’t, but there are needles flying at you and you can’t even see where they are coming from. One catches your side and you resign yourself to leaving him behind. The wind is blowing the fog in swirling patterns as you go.

 

 _“This way.”_ It’s almost a whisper, one you barely hear to your left, and looking you are stunned into freezing. The gas station front is a bunch of large windows, and in one window is a grey skinned girl with ram horns and blank white eyes. Swallowing, you stare at her, her hand beckoning as you gape. She was a dream, Aradia was just a dream caused by hitting your head too many times. There was no way-

 

 _“Hurry, there are too many.”_ Her voice is in the fog as she darts away, body rippling over the windows before she disappears. A needle hits at your feet and you move. Weird dream or not, you are going to follow the ghost gal. As you run the fog continues to move, and in a moment you see her on the windows on another building, her body disappearing into the concrete painted with bowling balls. You follow, eyes darting to catch even a glimpse of her. She appears in the broken glass of a car door, and then through the gaps in the wooden planks over the next buildings windows. You lose her for just a moment before you see her again through a fence. She is scattered on panes of broken glass, pointing towards a door. You run for it, get your hands on the latch and push.

 

Slamming the door against the wind outside you turn and find yourself in a dark hall. There is nothing moving, nothing happening, but through what little light enters through the boarded windows you know exactly where you are.

 

“Fuck.”

You hate hospitals.

 

\---

 

_”It’s okay Dave, you’re going to be fine.” His hands are cool on your burning arm, the pain making your eyes tear up behind your shades. Gently Bro lays your arm straight._

_“Do-do I need to go to the h-hospital?” you ask, voice hiccuping a bit as Bro treats you so gently._

_“No, no we don’t.” He starts to move your arm. “You did a good job Lil’man,” he says softly as he bends your arm up fully. “You almost had me with that move.” You sniffle as he starts to move your arm out._

_“R-really?” you ask before letting out a shout, your shoulder sliding back into place. The sob that wracks your frame is muffled as Bro pulls you to his chest, your small body becoming completely eclipsed._

_“Naw,” he says softly and you let something out between a sob and a laugh. “But you are getting better.” Bro keeps you in the hug for a full minute before taking you down stairs and getting you an ice pack and a bottle of apple juice before taking you to your room._

_You ask for aspirin._

_Bro acts like he doesn’t hear you as he closes your door._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this took everyone. Lots on my plate right now, but I hope to start putting out chapters for all of my stories at a quicker pace.

“Aradia?” you call out as your chest heaves, but there is no response except for the sound of the wind outside. The lack of a response makes you swallow as your brain sorts itself out. She hadn’t really been there, couldn’t have. You had been hallucinating, seeing shapes in the fog, that was it. She was just a remnant of a bad dream. And John? Well, you don’t really want to think about that just now. Real or not you had missed catching him, and you can’t be sure if he is okay or not. Had he been running funny? Had that been his blood on the road. Taking a deep breath you do your best to push those thoughts away. No reason to worry about something you can’t control, even if it is going to go fester in back of your brain now.

Instead of thinking, you pull out your flashlight and start to look around. The first thing you see is a light switch, and without a thought, you reach for it and flick. Nothing happens, and really you aren’t sure what you were expecting. A place like this, with this kind of feel to it, according to horror movie logic there is no way lights are going to work. That and the wind outside is probably ripping power lines apart like pull-n-peel licorice. Great, now your stomach is growling. 

“Shit,” you murmur as you look around. Food is a thing your brain apparently forgot about, though your stomach sure hasn’t. Reaching into your side pouch you pull out one of the snack bars English had left out for you. It tastes a bit like flavored cardboard, but it’s better than nothing as you look around. Just to the side of the front doors you see a sign that says ‘Information’, and tacked up on it is a set of maps, a smallholder beneath with more maps that visitors can take.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you say around a mouth full of cardboard bar as you take a map and read ‘Brookhaven Hospital’ at the top. Giving it a quick glance you head further into the hospital, the sheet of paper not really holding anything you’re interested in. There is a fine amount of dust over everything, not yet cobwebby, but it’s enough to show it has been a while since anybody was around. There is a door just ahead of you next to a closed off reception window. You try the knob and you find that it is locked. It really doesn’t surprise you. Walking around the corner you find another door and try it to humor yourself, and to your surprise, this one opens. Popping your head in you find that it is some sort of examination room, everything covered in its own layer of dust.

“Huh.” The sound leaves you as you enter the room, flashlight running over random items and pieces of furniture. There are old x-rays on the board, medical items strewn about, and even a few folders sitting on the table. 

“These guys really must have left in a hurry,” you mutter as you glance over a random file, a full medical history staring you in the face. Someone’s going to be wanting that later. Another turn on your heel and you find that the office door next to you is open, leading into the reception area. Inside it, there are a large array of boxes. Finishing off the last of your cardboard bar you head in, flashlight gliding over the boxes and files. You find a box with a name you recognize on it. 

“Alright, Egbert,” you say with a chuckle. “What dark secrets do you have from your kiddy days?” In actually, you don’t find much about John, mostly just immunizations and a case of whooping cough when he was four. There is some on Dad, who you always forget is actually named Jole,but it’s mostly about basic yearly check ups and you find that he is probably one of the healthiest people you have ever known. John’s Nana, though... 

“Damn,” you murmur as you look over the information. “Went through some shit didn’t you.” You read the name at the top. “Jane.” There are so many check-ins and checkouts from Brookhaven to Alchemilla. So many different specialty surgeries and things that make no sense. The further back you go, the more there are until you find what looks to be the start of it all.

July 3rd, 2001. 

Jane Egbert: admitted from Alchemilla’s facilities. Saline Drip upon arrival. Left radius compression fracture, crushed metacarpal, compression fracture right hip, possible breakage in the coccyx, spinal compression or breakage in L4 and L5 vertebrae. X-ray to confirm. 

Minor head wound. Monitor for concussion

Injuries acquired due to falling on wooden stairs. 

“Shit,” you murmur into the nothing. “No wonder Egbert hates that joke.” Setting the file back into the box you close it. John had told you his Nana had been in and out of the hospital, but he hadn’t ever really talked about it. All you had known was that she was bedridden and that she rarely left her home. No wonder she never left home, she was probably fucking paralyzed from the waist down with all the shit she had broken. 

Turning away from the sad history, you go to leave the room when you see a file sitting half open. There are papers scattered around the file, one of them being a photo, and the girl on it is eerily familiar. Picking it up you look it over, flashlight shining over the crinkled paper. The girl has long black hair, round glasses, and bright green eyes. She’s is smiling wide with buck teeth that could almost rival John’s, and holding a large white dog. At least you think it’s a dog, hard to tell with the way the photo has been torn.

“Jade Harley,” you read on the back of the picture. “Hello, mummy girl.” Looking down at the file you shift through a few things. A lot of the documents seem to have been torn up, pieces scattered all around. Leaning down you snatch one up and start reading the fragment.

_ley: DOA. GSW to the chest. Extensive damage to the sternum. Superior vena cava severed. Pulmonary vein severed. Projectiles recovered from sternum, left atrium, right atrium, superior of right lung, superior of le_

You swallow around a suddenly dry tongue before dropping the piece of paper. Gunshot to the chest, so that’s how she got that hole. You go to toss her picture down, but find that you can’t. “Can’t leave a cutie like you alone in dark now can I?” you ask the picture. She just smiles at you through the crinkled paper, your flashlight creating a fake glare on her glasses. Folding her, you put her in your pouch and head out the way you came. Back in the main area, you go back towards the entrance. Outside you can still hear the wind whipping against the windows and doors, making them shudder. 

“Yeah, fuck that,” you say and turn to go deeper into the hospital. Better to be inside a place you hate than the middle of a storm. Going around the left side of the reception area and office, you look at the dusty room plaques on the wall. You go by an examination room that is locked, a doctor's office that is locked as well, a set of bathrooms you don’t need to use, and the cafeteria. You do go in there, just in case, and are rewarded with two vending machines. 

There is no light on in the snack machines, but that isn’t going to deter you, not when you see that one of them is a rotary vendor and there is a very familiar apple shaped logo in the window. Your sword is out and ready in seconds, flashlight balanced on a nearby table.

“Maybe hospitals aren’t complete shit,” you chuckle as you shove your sword into the doors side and push. It takes a bit, but you soon hear something creak and crack, and suddenly the door to the machine is swinging open and you have a smorgasbord of snacks. Then the smell hits you. Well, at least the drinks are okay.

Snatching up a few of the Mott’s bottles you open your pouch. Tossing out the empty water bottle you shove in the two you can carry without smashing the rest of your crap, and pop open a third. It’s luke warm, but the sweet flavor of apples washes over your tongue and you could care less. You give a gasp when you pull the bottle away from your mouth, more than 3/4ths of the stuff gone from the first drink alone. 

“Going to need to ration this shit,” you say with a smile and finish off the bottle and toss it into the nearest trash can. Not that anyone would really care if you just left it on the floor. 

The other machine is purely soda pop, and you decide it’s not worth the effort for some sugar water you can’t even carry. Instead, you decide to poke around some more, the cafeteria filled with old chairs and tables, some with old trays left out by the long gone inhabitants. There is a scrap of paper on one, done in a scrawling script that catches your eye. It reminds you of Mr. Egbert’s, but at the same time his is way more legible than this shit.

_‘The day room code has been changed again thanks to the fact that Mary let it slip to Laura again. I swear the woman has no sense telling a child codes that only the adult patients should know. The new code is 6-6-7-2. Try and keep it under wraps so we don’t have this happen again.’_

“Well that could be handy,” you murmur and fold the thing up before sticking it into your back pocket. With another quick sweep of the room, you find nothing else except a locked door to the kitchens and a few horrified mice.

Back out in the main area, you head down the hall before you and find two doors. One is to a set of stairs, the other is slightly ajar and goes into a hall that says ‘Cardiac’. Figuring you have had enough with stairs, you go to open the door to cardiac, but not before you notice the marks in the wall.

“Someone’s got shit aim.” The concrete flecks under your fingers as you run them over the holes. They look like they were shot point blank, four of them around a panel while the fifth is right in the center, having destroyed most of the number keys. Suddenly the stairs seem a bit more inviting. 

“Come on, Strider,” you tell yourself as you push the door in a bit more. “Not like you aren’t in a hospital.” The chuckle you let out doesn’t sound comforting at all as you listen to it echo down the hall. It’s dark in here, really dark, and your flashlight barely cuts through the blackness. Somewhere down the hall, there is a whistling sound. 

Going down the hall you look at the doors. There really isn’t much to see. Opening one of them you just find some sort of check up room, most of the equipment gone and just a bed left. You do find some gauze and bandages in one, and thinking better of it, you grab them. Most of it goes into your pockets, your pouch already pretty full. On your right, you pass an examination room, a bath, and what you think is an elevator and more stairs, but you have no real desire to go into them. They don’t really hold much appeal in the dark, especially the elevator since there are no lights on the buttons pad. You remember large purple eyes and screaming for a moment before you force the dream memory away and instead focus on what you are hearing.The whistling is coming from behind the double doors at the end of the hall.

Pushing slowly, you find air suddenly blowing over your arms, the sound doubling, and it becomes very clear that there is another door open somewhere as a light turns the hall a dingy gray. Popping your head around the door, you find another long hall. There is a door on your left and another short hall on your right. The light is coming out of the doors at the end of it, illuminating a small sign that reads ‘Garden’. Outside, there is a shimmer of movement and a murmur of a voice. You turn off your light and set it back in your belt.

“Hello?” you call and start to move down the hall, hand on your sword. The voice keeps coming from the garden, the door letting in the whistle of wind. Small patches of fog are swirling around the entrance. “If you’re human, say so now or forfeit all your limbs,” you call out in an attempt as a joke, but your voice seems to be a bit high.

“Shad up,” comes the response and you feel your shoulders drop. That wasn’t a voice you had been expecting to hear again. Hell, you’re surprised you really remember it.

“Roxy?” Pushing the door open you find you’re right. The woman from the bar is walking around the garden, and she is holding something quite large. When she pauses and turns towards you, you get to see just what that thing is. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe when you see the size of the rifle she’s carrying. It looks like it could pierce a goddamn tank. It’s longer than her torso for fuck sake, the butt of it shoved into her purse and resting against her shoulder, the tip well over her head.

“Davey?” Her words are horribly slurred as she wobbles on her heels. One of her leggings looks shredded, scratch like wounds covering the flesh showing through the black mesh, and you feel your stomach churn as you look at the color of the skin. It is swollen and red, turning an ugly purple along the edges. You step further out into the light. “Davey!” She throws her arms open wide as if expecting you to run to her and give her a big hug, you instead give a small wave and walk out into the garden.

The whole place is filled with trees and empty flower beds lining the pathways. You have to guess that there must be a fence around the place for so much of the foliage to still be alive. Only thing is that the area is so large you can’t see them to be sure. The sky is obscured by tree branches and leaves, but from what you can see, it is still just as foggy as it was outside the hospital, the limbs keeping the worst of it from settling on the ground. It looks like the walls kept out the worst of the storm, though there are definitely broken limbs and dead leaves all around. Roxy is just standing in the midst of it like she’s in a field of fucking wildflowers.

“How ya doing?” you ask, a bit louder than normal so you can be heard over the whistling. She drops her arms and just seems to float for a moment in the midst of all the chaos around her. Her hair is blowing every which way, and her leg isn’t the only thing that looks banged up. One of her eyes is blackened and swollen, her dress is torn up on her arms, and there is a small amount of blood trickling from beneath her hairline. 

“Been better.” She starts to walk again, heading deeper into the garden. You follow her, stepping around different items as she talks, having to listen hard to hear her slurred words. “Fuckin’ towns in sha-samb- shit,” You hear as you catch up. “I can’t walk a fuckin’ block wif’out fallin on ma ass, and da fuckin’ tenicl, tendi...the fuckin’ things won’ leave me alone.” 

“The what?” You doubt she can hear you as you follow, but to your surprise, she turns and looks at you and repeats herself. 

“Da’ tendicls,” she tries again. “S’like a fuckin’ octopussus attack.” Oddly enough she doesn’t seem to need to look down at the ground to see where she’s going as she keeps walking. That is until she suddenly drops into a park bench, the wet leaves making a squelching sound under her backside. 

“Uh-huh,” you reply as you stand before her. You aren’t a doctor, but that shit on her leg looks bad, like really bad. This much closer and you can see small black lines running up her legs. “Do you need any help? I mean your leg looks pretty ba--”

“Yer not ‘istnen,” she slurs out and goes to grab your arm. “The ten-ta-cles are lookin fer me.” It takes you a moment to figure out just what she’s saying to you, and when you do it still doesn’t make any sense.

“Tentacles?” you reply slowly.

“Tendi-ticles,” she replies, and you can smell the liquor on her breath. 

“Yeah...alright.” She is so far gone. “How about we go inside and see if we can’t find something to patch you up with, that way you can get away from the tentacles next time.” You are gentle as you get her to stand. Roxy leans heavily against you when you do, and for a moment you almost go down. She’s leaning against your bad shoulder, and fuck you forgot how bad that thing could hurt.

“You’re a good boy, Davey,” she murmurs in your ear as you start walking. “‘ike my Rosie, she used ta’ take good care a her Mama too.” That’s right, she had been looking for a kid hadn’t she, just like John was trying to find his Dad. So many lost people.

“Have you been having any luck finding her?” you ask as you two keep walking. Man, you had gone further into the garden then you had thought. The door has to be somewhere around here, though.

“I’ll never fin’ my Rosie,” she sniffs quietly next to you. The wind is dying down, thank god, and it’s making it easier to hear her, but from the slight patter you’re hearing there is a good chance it has started to rain. Great, that is just what you need, rain on top of the already shitty weather. At least you can hang out in the hospital.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Don’t say that. I’m sure you’ll find her.”

“No,” she kind of half sobs. “D’ey took her from me. I’ll never fin’ her now.” Her legs suddenly go out from under her, and you have to stumble to keep from going down with her. Biting your lip you move with her, your shoulder aching as you set her down. 

“Hey, hey,” you say and kneel. Your shoulder really didn’t need that. “Come on, you can’t give up now.” Fuck, she’s crying. “Even if someone did take your kid, I’m sure you’ll find them. From what I can tell you’re a pretty bad-ass mo--” The hand on your mouth is unexpected and kind of painful with the force of impact.

“Shhhhhhh,” she hisses at you as her head jerks around. There is a rustling behind you, and with her icy hand on your mouth, you realize it is getting kinda warm outside, and well...really bright. “It's back.” The raindrop hits your hand and you jerk at its warmth. What the hell? Shouldn’t this stuff be icy? The rain is starting to come through the trees, fat, warm drops as the garden continues to grow brighter. There is a slithering sound behind you.

“Roxy,” you say softly, not wanting to turn around. “Roxy, we’ve got to go now.” She’s trembling next to you as you say it and pull her upwards. It takes a few false starts before she starts to move again. Whatever is behind you is getting louder. With the growing light, you can see the door, it’s not too far away thankfully. A few more hobbles and you can get there.

“Mommy?” Roxy stumbles and you just start to drag her. Holy fuck it is getting bright, and you have shades on. Why is it getting so bright? “Mommy, where are you going?” She lets out a sob and pulls away from you.

“Roxy,” you snap and spin with her, startled to find she has her rifle up and ready.

“You’re not my Rosie,” she says through gritted teeth. You really don’t want to look...you really don’t. So, of course, it’s exactly what you do. With one of those slow head turns you only think about in horror movies, you see exactly what is making that sound, and the first thing that your brain can register is ‘tentacles’: black, slick, oily tentacles. 

“Mommy?” The head is almost an afterthought in the mass of black that cuts through the ever growing brightness. The rain is coming down around you, cutting rainbow patterns on trees that no longer look quite right, lighting up the face in all that black. It could have been pretty once, maybe, but now it’s just bright purple eyes in a pale, white face. You think it might have blonde hair, maybe, but it is hard to see in all that oil.

“You’re not her!” The gun shot makes you jerk, ears ringing as Roxy stumbles. The face explodes into a black mass as the tentacles come spilling through the trees. 

“Mama?” Another head has appeared. Scratch that, more than just one head, a dozen heads have appeared, maybe more. “Mama, Mommy, Ma?” The words come out as a chorus.

“Come on,” you grab Roxy’s arm and tug, the door is right there for fuck sake. She shoves you towards it. 

“Go,” she says as she slides a bullet into the rifle with a fluidity that doesn’t match the speech patterns she just had. It comes up, her stance shifts, and tentacles go flying. She’s already reloading as another head appears.

“Ro--”

“Come and get me you bitch!” she screams before taking off, away from the door, back into the garden. 

“Roxy!” You call after her, but she’s disappearing into the rain that is starting to thicken, turning everything into a series of streaks and washes of color. It isn’t thick enough to keep you from seeing a large glob of black coming towards you. “Fuck,” you bite out and run. The door is sitting open for you, a dark hole in all this brightness. Behind you, there is the sound of something slithering after you, slick and fast.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you chant as you reach the door, hand darting out to grab the handle and slam it closed behind you. A tentacle tip reaches you just as it closes, the tip slicing off with the force. The door shutters upon the creatures impact. Shit, you need to lock it. Shit, shit...The bolt at the top slides in easier than you expected, the door still shaking. The tentacle tip writhes on the floor, slowly dissolving. You take a step back, kicking the tip of the tentacle away. Outside you hear another gunshot and the sound of rain. 

“Roxy,” you breathe out. Your upper body is soaked, your hair plastered to your head, and water has beaded on your sunglasses. Your fist hits hard against the door. “Roxy you stupid bitch,” you scream out at the rain. “We were almost there! We were right fucking there!” Your response is the rhythmic sound of rain. Under the door, the light from outside is fading, and the metal under your fist is getting warm. Swallowing, you take a step back, see the light go from white to red under the door, smell hot metal and oil.

“No,” you say softly as you feel the heat coming up through your shoes. Already there is a hissing sound as water drips off your body. There isn’t the sound of rain anymore, just a growing rhythmic ticking. Another step back and you find that the door is beginning to move, lava trickling in underneath it. The sound that echoes down the hall behind you makes you freeze.

“Nak nak.” 

You turn and run. Immediately you turn left at the door you came through, the naking coming from the other end of the hall. You head back down the hall you had originally come from, though it doesn’t look nearly the same. The walls are already cracked, dripping red magma, metal gears spinning. Through the gaps, you can look into rooms that were once covered in metal. You hit the door leading to the main lobby, and find that it’s locked.

“No,” you pant as you hear something heavy at the end of the hall. “No no no no.” Your eyes dart around, looking, searching. There is a panel on the wall to your right, and above it is a sign you can barely read through the layer of grease. ‘Day Room’. Holy shit which pocket did you put that paper in?

“Nak nak nak.” 

“Naknak!”

Oh god there is more than one. The paper comes out with trembling hands as your eyes rake over it. 

“6, 6,” you say out loud, finger jabbing at the panel. “7-2.” There is a beep from the door and you yank it open. As you slam it shut you just barely catch sight of two large Nakadiles making their way down the hall towards you. The bolt on the other side of the door slides in with a harsh grating sound. With a gasp that is just shy of being a sob you go to your knees and take in deep breaths of hot, smoky air. Something smells like it’s burning, but you really don’t care.

“This isn’t real,” you say out loud, voice about to break. “It was just a d-dream. You breathed in too much of Mama Lalonde’s vodka breath and now you’re just passed out in the grass.” The door is hot under your fingers, you ignore it. “That’s exactly what’s happened, you’re just dr--”

“Um...hello?” You freeze. “I uh, get that you’re probably a little busy right now, but could you, maybe, help me?” You whip around to see who’s talking, and you don’t have to see yourself to know you’ve just lost what little color you had left in your face. You’re in hell, you have to be, because that is the only thing that makes sense as you see this guy strapped to the table. His legs are clad in metal from toe to hip, oily cloth covering his groin, and that metal looks red hot in places, making his skin sizzle. Your eyes follow that metal to the large hole in his chest, wires tangled up inside it, and you can see his fucking heart in there: dirty brown like it’s rotting in all his gray flesh, and beating with the rhythm of the world. 

“Are you, uh, okay?” The voice sounds too unsure, to kind to be coming out of a mouth with such sharp teeth; out of a head with horns that could be used as a fucking goal post. There are bolts shoved into those horns, electricity spiking between them now and again, making him wince.

“Uh-uh…” you reply, and it is a staggering vocal accomplishment for you right now. 

“Oh...alright…well, um, my name is Tavros, and you know, when you’re better, I could-” he grimaces a bit as electricity arcs between his horns and dances over his scalp. It makes the mohawk he’s sporting tremble with the static. “-I could really use your help.” He shifts, and the look of pain on his face and the clanking of chains around his wrists makes you snap out of it a moment. He really looks like shit, his body thin with so much brown smeared over him. You look at a cut on his chest and register somewhere deep that the brown stuff is his blood.

“You see,” he continues when you look back at his face and note his deep brown eyes. “I’d really like to die. So, would you, maybe, uh, kill me?” And nope, you’re brain just checked out. There is no guy laying on a metal table. You aren’t in the middle of a hellish world. This is not happening. You blink once, and wow that is a really uncomfortable looking floor rushing up to meet you.

\----

_“Bro, look what I found.” The bird is still warm in your hands, making little sounds as you hold it out to him. There is a little blood on your fingers, but that’s okay. Bro has told you that bleeding is okay, it’s the bodies way of tell you there is something wrong._

_“I think he got into a strife with another bird,” you say as he turns to look at you. “Can you fix him?” The way Bro’s shoulders go kind of all stoney and then drop makes your stomach do a similar thing._

_“Come on Lil Man,” he says softly and puts a hand on the back of your neck. “There’s something I need to teach you.” You don’t understand why he goes towards the roof instead of the bathroom, but you don’t know how to fix birds, so maybe you have to be on the roof. Without even questioning him, you follow._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone I am so sorry this took so long! As you can tell it's a beast of a chapter, and with all the other writing projects and graduate school it fell by the wayside for a long while. I hope that Dave's will not end up the same way. I hope you all enjoy! And a big thanks to Shishi for helping me beta this one.

Your ear is aching as the high pitched whistle of wind whips through the room. The bed beneath you squelches unpleasantly as you shift and wiggle deeper beneath the blankets. Ten seconds ago the sheets had just been scratchy under your palms, but now they feel damp and fuzzy, almost rotten.

 

“Jo--.” The sound is cut off from the wind and ringing in your head, and you can’t be sure but there may be a trace of laughter somewhere in there. Truthfully, you can’t tell if you actually heard it, or if your bad ear is now causing you to hear things in the wind.

 

“Fu--Joh-----mov-!” You don’t move, instead, you try and go perfectly still. It won’t see you if it thinks you’re nothing more than a lump in the bed. Right?

 

_“That’s complete bullshit and you know it, dude,”_ you hear in the back of your head, Dave’s voice a fuzzy chuckle. _”That shit was disproven so quick after Jurassic Park it made Sam Neil’s head spin.”_ The memory does not help you with your panic as snatches of what you think is your name keep floating to your good ear.

 

_Go away go away go away_ , you pray as you huddle beneath the sheets. You’re safe under here, as long as the blanket is over your head you are fucking safe. Then the sheets shift and you instinctively grab at them, pull, and try to keep them in place. They get pulled up and away from your ankle, cold wind clearing out what little warmth has built up beneath your little fort. Something warm grabs your ankle.

 

You’ve read about fight or flight, hell you had to do a project in tenth grade about it, and while you had found it mildly interesting by the end you had never really had a moment could be considered a fight or flight moment. Now you know what it feels like as your heart goes to your throat and everything in you seems to pinpoint on moving as fast as possible. The hammer is up in a second, you are crying out in something that isn’t quite fear, but isn’t rage either, and god damn it the blanket is in the way as you swing. You miss and your momentum takes you off the bed. The floor groans loud enough to be heard through the wind as you hit it.

 

“Get away!” you scream out, thrashing and flailing with your hammer. “Get the fuck away from me!” The sheets around your head are grabbed along with a small amount of your hair, and the thing pulls. The world slants as you go sideways and your scalp burns. In that instant, you just barely catch yourself with your elbow before you raise hammer again to swing. You freeze.

 

“Shut the fuck up and move!” Karkat yells in your face as he grabs your shoulder and pulls. The gash on his cheek has purpled, his hair looks matted, and when he pulls you up your first instinct is to pull him into a hug. He’s alive, the strange gray boy is alive and he is solid in your arms. He’s real. 

 

“Karkat,” you sob through the adrenaline tinted relief. “You’re alive, you--”

 

“I said move!” He rips himself away from you, gets a tight hold on your arm and pulls. The room behind him is not the same as the one you ran into. There is broken glass all over the floor, black shadows on the wall, the front door is missing and there is nothing but a foggy cavern outside. No. You don’t want to be back here. That was a dream, a horrible one and Karkat is...was…what is Karkat then? There is a brown hand on the doorjamb and the wind whips the smell of something awful to your nose. Something’s coming in.

 

“Stop staring like a slack-jawed idiot and move!” Another jerk to your arm and you follow him this time. He pulls you past the bed that is now covered in so much mold it looks like it’s nothing but rot. There are no clothes, no suitcase, nothing but random debris on the floor as Karkat drags your stumbling self into what you can only assume was once a bathroom before he slams the door shut and you fall into darkness. The wind dies down and you can barely see anything in the dim light from beneath the door.

 

“W-what are you doing here?” you pant as he shoves what you think is a broken toilet in front of the door as you scramble to pull out your flashlight. The beam shows you for sure that it is indeed a toilet.

 

“I could ask you the same fucking question,” he snarls and squints at you in the light. He’s wearing more clothing than last time, a ratty sweater with snags and holes and jeans that look like he had pulled them from the garbage. Even the sneakers he wears have holes that are big enough to show you glimpses of toes in ratty socks. There are also two oddly shaped bags on his hips, handles sticking out of the zippered tops. They are the only thing he is wearing that don’t look like shit.

 

“What’s--” you start.

 

“Don’t care,” he interrupts before pushing past you. Something hits the door. “We need to go.”

 

“And how are we going to get out of here?” You stare at the door, you can’t go that way. Hammer or not there is no way you’re fighting anymore, you’re ready for flight to take over the fight. The next hit makes you grip the hammer’s handle tighter. Then again, if you have to fight...

 

“You have eyes, right?” Karkat sounds incredibly pissed as you turn to face him. “Or are those just blue circles painted onto your fucking glass?” You don’t respond as you stare past him. That is a big fucking hole in the wall, and it makes absolutely no sense. It’s a hole but it is not circular. It looks like a giant...flower? Is that the right word? No that’s not right. You’ve seen it before somewhere, it’s some sort of gate thing, but even then you just thought of it as a flower. Each of its ten petals have a line coming from their tips that wrap around the center and join together until they create a circle all around the outside. The lines look like they go deep, so deep you can’t see where they stop as they fall away into the hole in the middle. Your light barely penetrates its darkness.

 

“Judging by the look on your face, they do work.” 

 

Your attention snaps to Karkat. He glares at you before he puts a foot against one of the petals, shoe finding purchase, and he stands. His hands stay out to help him climb in as he grabs at the other petals and balances precariously on the points, his feet trying not to fall into the grooves. He has to double over to get inside. 

 

“Come on, we have to get moving.” There is a bang on the door and you jolt towards him. 

 

“We’re going through that?” you ask in confusion and sheath your hammer.

 

“What’s it look like moron?” Karkat snarks over his shoulder. Another crashing sound from outside and you find yourself climbing. The stone is so cold under your hand, and just the slightest bit damp, like it’s never really dried out before. It’s hard to balance on the point of the petal, but a few feet in the surface smooths out and the tunnel widens. Karkat’s body blocks most of the tunnel view, but as the floor evens out so does everything else, the hole widening into a perfectly circular tunnel.

 

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes along the concrete and comes back to your good ear. The other one is still horribly muted, but at least the ringing is a barely-there background noise now.

 

“Away from here,” Karkat huffs and keeps going, sneakers making slapping sounds on the concrete.

 

“Well yeah I get that, but where are we, you know, going?” 

 

He looks over his shoulder at you, and boy does he look unhappy.

 

“Somewhere where I won’t have to worry about that fucking spider whore finding us,” Karkat huffs. For a moment you think he’s talking about the recluse.

 

“Spider who?” He’s mentioned that name before though right? “You mean the girl who strung you up in that dungeon?” From the way Karkat’s shoulders go stiff, you’re pretty sure that’s who he means. “Was she the one with the chainsaw?” His shoulders seem to go tighter for a moment, and then they slump, his walking slows, and you slow with him. The tunnel is barely wide enough for you to walk two abreast.

 

“That was one of my friends.” His voice is soft.

 

“Didn’t seem very friendly,” you snort.

 

“Yeah, well it’s not her fucking fault Vriska’s got a hold on her mind now is it?” he snarls. You don’t know where the rage comes from, but it makes you go still as he rounds on you. “It’s none of their faults, so don’t you fucking dare say anything about my friends you piece of shit, because you don’t, know, anything!” The last part echoes down the tunnel, his chest heaves, and there is a little spittle at the corner of his mouth. In the odd light of your flashlight he looks terrifying with his sharp teeth and horns, the wound on his cheek a dark mark on his flesh. 

 

“I-I..” There aren’t any words coming out of your mouth and you feel like there should be. Karkat takes a step towards you, you take one back.

 

“Do you have _any_ idea what kind of hell I’ve been through?” Another step. “What we’ve all been through?” All? Who the fuck is he talking about?

 

“No, but I--” You want to get angry at him, to yell back, oh god that would feel so good right now. Yet, in this instant, he is more terrifying than anything you’ve seen so far, and there are no words coming to mind to yell back.

 

“Shut up!” he cries. You step wrong and go down, butt bouncing on cold concrete as he looms above you. “My friends are gone, our world has shattered and turned to fucking dust, and now the last of us are stuck in this,” he gestures to the stone walls. “This hell!” His teeth are bared in a large snarl, his eyes are wild, and oh god what’s happening to his face?

 

“Karkat, y-your eyes. They’re bleeding.” His hand darts upwards and comes away. He sneers at you.

 

“They aren’t bleeding you dumb ass.” His words are quieter and silence settles between you.

 

“Oh.” You stay on the floor, sitting silently as he stands above you, anger still visible as a fine shaking in his limbs. Apparently grey people cry red.

 

“Come on,” he finally says. “We need to keep moving.” He doesn’t offer you a hand to get up, instead he turns and walks away. For a few moments you just watch him retreat, see his limbs shake and his posture slump. Part of you still wants to get angry, to get up and chase him down, to scream back. How were you supposed to know any of that? How was that one-sided screaming match fair? Hell, you don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about, not that you really care after that outburst. Not really. Not with Dave passed out at the house and Dad missing. You watch his shrinking back and feel the coldness seeping into the seat of your pants. 

 

“You’re not the only one in hell,” is all you manage, the words an angry mutter beneath your breath that bounce around you both. Karkat pauses for a second, shoulders squaring up again, fists tight. Standing you wait for him to turn around, to confront you. Everything in you is tight and burning. His shoulders fall.

 

“I know,” he says, and there is no energy in those words. None at all. Everything hot in you drains away with his footsteps, his back receding into the dark. You sigh and follow. Cold wind slips past you as you walk, your beam just barely framing Karkat.

 

Wait...wind? Another gust, and the smell of burnt mud fills your nose. Your flight response kicks in instantly.

 

“Run,” you say as you catch up with him in a second and pull. 

 

“Wha-?” Another foul gust.

 

“RUN!” You both bolt. Behind you the wind pushes at your backs and the smell grows. The thing that had been beating on the door got through, and now it’s after you. There is a skittering sound on the tunnel walls, a continual scratching that bounces off of itself and amplifies until you can’t tell how many there could possibly be, not with your one good ear. You chance a glance, just one, but there isn’t enough light for you to even guess at the number coming for you. 

 

“Shit!” Karkat’s cries a split second before the floor disappears beneath your feet, and you’re falling. It only lasts for an instant before you hit the ground and skid. The flashlight goes tumbling away from you, the light spinning and rolling. In the chaotic beam you barely see Karkat ahead of you, sliding away. Your body follows as your hands and feet find no purchase on the wet, slanted, smooth stone. Karkat manages to snatch up the flashlight and the beam goes steady.

 

“Lean left!” he calls, and what the fuck is that supposed to mean? As the sudden clog of stone appears you know just what he means and do your best to roll, the rough stone just barely catching your shoulder and you hear cloth rip. “Right!” You roll without hesitation this time and barely see something sharp whip past you. Behind you something screams in pain. Oh god they’re following you.

 

“They’re coming!” you scream after him.

 

“No shit!” Karkat responds which is then followed by a, “Le-Ri-Cen-FUCK!” You try to get right into the center, but whatever it is you are expecting it is not for the two large piles of debris on either side of you to open up into nothing. 

 

“Karkat!” you scream as you find yourself falling, reaching for anything and finding only air. The light is just below you and you point yourself towards it, reach for it, and something grabs your hand. In a moment the two of you are tangled together.

 

“Don’t you fucking let g-” You hit something hard for a split second before you sink. The flashlight is blinding as bubbles cloud your vision and water tries to slip down into your lungs. Instinct makes you kick and claw upwards. You kick and hit something hard. Karkat’s grunt is audible beneath the water. It takes only seconds for your clothing to become heavy as you make your way upwards, or what you think is upwards as Karkat clings to you. The cold air startles you when you find the surface. Your gasp for air is tinted with the taste of oil, dirt, and something sour. The gag is automatic and just lets more in past your lips.

 

“I can’t swim,” is the first thing that reaches your good ear as you flail about, and god that is not what you wanted to hear as the current takes you. He clings, you kick, and if you try and open your mouth, you are going to drown. You both hit something in the water, try to grab it, but it's gone too fast and you’re being pulled away again. The only sound in your ears is the rushing of water, Karkat’s choked coughing, and your own gasps. Somehow he keeps hold of the flashlight, and in its beam you see his face. He looks as afraid as you feel. The roar of water grows a moment later, and suddenly you are weightless again, falling. 

 

“Point your feet,” you manage to gasp. There isn’t enough time to do so and you land at an odd angle instead. Karkat slips from you and you flail for him. You can’t lose him, you can’t. As soon as you clear the waterfall the current dies down and you are able to pull yourself up.

 

“Karkat!” The words are immediately followed by coughing as the water you tried to keep out of your mouth chokes you. Scrambling you push your glasses back on your face so you can see. If not for the tape of the gauze they would be gone, the tip of an earpiece just barely staying attached. “Karkat!” There isn’t a reply, just darkness and the rush of water. You spin in the water, looking, searching. The flashlight beam bobs a short distance away. It’s hard to swim with Jake’s jacket on your back and your equipment weighing you down, but you somehow push your body forwards. It’s a miracle to find that Karkat is still holding the flashlight. Not so miraculous that he is floating face down.

 

“Karkat,” you cough out and grab him. “Karkat.” It’s hard to flip him as you try and pull yourself towards what you hope might be ashore in the dark. He doesn’t respond as you manage to get him face up. The flashlight glances in the direction you’re pulling, and to your relief there looks to be some sort of solid shore. 

 

“Hold on Karkat,” you pant, the grimy water trying to enter your mouth. “We’re almost there.” Swimming sideways you manage to get the two of you to shallow water and immediately you go to walking. “Come on you asshole.” God he’s heavy as you drag him. “Don’t stop talking now.” Laying him out you look him over in the half-light of the flashlight beam. He’s got a death grip on the thing, and as you bend to listen for breathing you realize that may just be what it is: a death grip.

 

“No you don’t,” you pant and quickly open his mouth wide before putting your hands on his chest, just at the bottom of his rib cage. “You don’t get to leave without me.” One. Two. Three. Four. Five. You put your ear down to his mouth. Nothing. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Nothing. 

 

A whine escapes your throat before you lean in, two fingers pinch his nose as you do your best to seal your mouth on his and force air down his throat. When you pull back you try not to think about how cold his mouth was.

 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” This time you say it out loud with each press to his diaphragm. Nothing. You breathe for him again. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” Another breathe, no response. “Come on, damn it!” Three. Four. Five. Breathe. 

 

Karkat coughs water into your mouth just as you go to pull back. Your reaction is to lean back and puke. Everything is swimming before your eyes. You can’t breathe deep enough as you hear Karkat cough, his body moving in the light as he rolls to the side and throws up as well.

 

“Told ya, you couldn’t leave,” you gasp out. His response is muffled as he wretches, or maybe it’s just because your good ear is in the mud. “What?”

 

“Fuck you,” he gets out and pukes again. You chuckle, cough, and decide that mud makes a good enough pillow for you. You’ll only rest for a minute, just a minute. By the looks of it Karkat feels the same way. 

 

“John?” 

 

The sound of the waterfall echoing in the cave lulls you to sleep.

 

\----

 

_She’s going to let go and you’re going to drown. The water is so cold, and Nana won’t let you have your floaties as she slowly walks in deeper and deeper. When it hits your chest you start to cry._

_“Oh stop that, John,” she scolds as she stops. There are lots of other people at lake Toluca today. The sun is so hot, the water is so cold, and this close to the boardwalk there is plenty of fun things to eat. You had enjoyed the shallow end with your Dad, floaties tight on your arms._

_“John,” Nana had called out from her little plastic chair. “It’s time you learned to swim.” You had been excited, but now you’re in the deeper water, the greener water, and you don’t like it nearly as much. This water is too cold._

_“Swimming is something everyone needs to learn,” Nana continues as she pries your hands away. “So be a big boy and kick.” You kick, you kick so hard you feel like you’re going to jump out of the water. She holds your hands and smiles, then she lets go. The water tastes funny in your mouth as you gasp, kick, flail. It tastes like it’s been mixed with something sour. She just watches you for a moment above the water as you start to sink, liquid coming up over your head._

_Dad comes into view and you think he’ll grab you, but she stops him. You kick harder, your hands pull, and suddenly your head is up._

_“See,” you hear her say as you kick sloppily towards Dad. His hands are warm as they pick you up and you bury your head into the side of his neck. “I told you he could do it.”_

 

\----

 

“John, wake up,” someone grunts.

 

You shiver. It’s really cold for some reason and you feel wet. Did Dave try and wake you up with a bucket again? Dad’s going to be pissed if he did. You get a hand under you and push only for the bed to slide away from your palm, sandy particles cutting into the flesh. That’s not right. Your mattress doesn’t do that. 

 

You get up slowly, eyes looking blearily for anything at all. It’s so dark down here, and when you do turn towards the light you find that your glasses are smudged with dirt and oil. One of the lenses has a hairline crack through it that makes the corner of your vision split just slightly. Karkat is staring at you as he sit cross-legged.

 

“Hey,” Karkat says softly. His sweater is still clinging to him, and he looks like he’s shivering.

 

“Hey,” you manage to muster as you feel your stomach sink. You’re still here in the dark. With a groan you sit up fully, feel the bruises your ride down the pipe gave you and try to look around. “How long was I asleep?” It feels like both forever and not nearly long enough as you stretch and feel joints pop and muscles flex.

 

“No fucking idea,” Karkat sighs and begins to stand. “I just woke up myself.” The flashlight's beam sweeps over the ground as he stands, and it doesn’t seem as bright as before. It must have been a while if the batteries are going down. Standing is a fun endeavor, your legs feeling like rubber as you follow Karkat.

 

“Any idea where we are?” you ask him as you look around. The light is reflecting just enough off the murky water that you can at least tell you’re in some sort of cavern, the size immense from what you can tell. The sound of the waterfall is swallowed up, muted by the space.

 

“Sewers,” Karkat grunts as he turns his back sharply and there is the sound of popping vertebrae. “It's one of the few places Vriska doesn’t like to go.” His neck cracks with his next movement and he lets out a little sigh.

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Too deep underground. Fucks with her ability to control things down here,” Karkat replies. “Come on,” he adds as he sweeps the flashlight around. “I think I know which waterway we’re in.”

 

“How would you know that?” you ask and hobble along next to him as you both begin to walk. The sand and muck beneath your shoes squelches with each step.

 

“Because after Vriska realized she couldn’t control me like the other low bloods she threw me down here. Thought I would be less of a threat.” He keeps his voice level, almost monotone, like he doesn’t really want to even think about it. You walk in silence. What is he even talking about? How could anyone control someone else's mind? What was he even?

 

“That stuff you said back in the tunnel,” you start as you follow his footsteps. “Think you could…” He keeps walking and you sigh. “Could you, ya know, explain it a little?” Karkat looks over his shoulder at you, red eyes catching the barest gleam of the flashlight as he does. There really isn’t anything to his face at all, it just looks tired. He turns back to look where he’s going. For a while you don’t think he’s going to talk.

 

“There were twelve of us at the beginning,” Karkat starts as he walks towards one of the walls. You can just see a dark opening in the light, the blackness deeper than that around you. “We were given a choice. We could either keep living our boring fucking lives, or we could play a game and become gods.” 

 

“Whoa what?” you interrupt. “That sounds kinda awesome.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what we thought,” Karkat replies bitterly. “We decided to do it, to see what would happen. Worse case scenario we fail, or at least that’s what we thought.” He’s quiet again.

 

“What happened?”

 

“We lost,” Karkat replies and looks back at you. “Fucked up royally and our punishment was this place.” He sweeps a hand towards the dirty water. You look out at the ripples and small waves as the waterfall’s roar is swallowed by the vastness of the room.

 

“What could you have possibly done to deserve this?” 

 

“We got cocky,” Karkat replies, and you don’t have to see him to tell he’s talking through his teeth. “Or more specifically, Vriska got cocky.” His speed picks up. “She thought ‘why stop at gods? Let’s control everything’. Stupid bitch tried to break the rules, and in the end her attempt to make us unbeatable blew up in our faces and our victory became a failure.”

 

“And you ended up here?” What kind of game had they been playing?

 

“Yeah.” It’s quiet. “We ended up here.” You mull that over a bit. You’re not really sure what he’s talking about exactly, not even sure he can explain it, but you can at least understand that someone screwed up and that’s all you really need to get.

 

“So when you got down here, what happened?” The laugh Karkat lets out is ugly.

 

“Vriska decided if she couldn’t be a god, she would rule over us instead. Everyone she could control mentally she did, those she couldn’t she tried to control in other ways. Went so far as killing one of us to keep Gamzee in line.”

 

“How did that go over?” you ask softly.

 

“He snapped,” Karkat murmurs. “Went completely insane and ran off with the body. He’s been after her ever since, fighting her best he can, taking those from her that she was able to control even if it means hurting people.” His voice gets angrier, tighter as he stares straight forward at the tunnel that is now so close.

 

“Where is he now?” You really hope it’s not down here.

 

“I don’t know.” His voice breaks and you don’t press any further. Instead you just follow him into the tunnel. In seconds the air turns stagnant as you walk, feet echoing in the smaller space, debris and water cracking and splashing beneath your shoes.

 

“I’m trying to find my Dad,” you say softly. “He came here a while ago and he hasn’t come back.”

 

“Sounds like a fucking genius,” Karkat snorts. “Who the fuck would want to come here?”

 

“Well not _here_ ,” you reply, tone defensive. Your father is _not_ dumb. “The other here, you know, when the world changes.” Karkat looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. “You know, when it goes back to being normal and shit.” His eyebrow goes higher. “Wait...Does it not change for you?” He goes back to looking forwards.

 

“Unless you’re talking about this place shifting from hot, to cold, to an ice bucket and then bright as fuck then no, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” From his tone you realize he really doesn’t. 

 

“Oh,” you say softly. “Wait, what do you mean ho--” His hand comes up and you freeze. “What?” Down the tunnel you can see that it splits into three holes. All of them are dark, identical, with the exception of the one in the middle. “What is that?” Whatever it is it’s not that big, maybe the size of a large cat or some sort of dog. Karkat inches forwards and you follow. The dull light slowly lets you see more of it. The thing is some sort of nasty yellow color, with a long tail and four angular legs.

 

“It looks like some sort of newt,” you murmur as you both keep moving. Whatever it is, it’s making a odd noise. It’s almost a choking sound, like water bubbling up. The only thing you can think of it as is a ‘glub’. You stare at it longer. “Or maybe some sort of salamander, newts don’t get that big, do they?”

 

“I don’t know what the fuck a newt or a salamander is,” Karkat replies quietly as he hands you the light. “But I know that those things are ass-holes.” Startled, you watch as he goes to unzip the strange side bags on his hips. He pulls out two wickedly curved blades, both about as large as your hand. You grab your hammer instantly.

 

“Go slow,” Karkat murmurs as he keeps moving forwards. You keep the light steady on the thing in the center. It’s shifting from one foot to the other, something laying in front of it.

 

“What’s it doing?” you whisper and Karkat shushes you before he seems to think better of it.

 

“I think it’s eating,” he replies. You hear the glubbing sound again and watch as something shiny comes from it’s mouth and then pops. There is a slight hissing sound that follows, like water on a hot skillet. Another glub and you lift the light just a little. You see another one behind the first, see something like a bubble form in it’s mouth as it opens wide, and then the bubble pops. Something surges from it’s mouth and coats the thing on the floor. There is another hiss, and this close you can see steam. Something acrid fills your nose.

 

“Oh god,” you breathe. “I-I think they’re puking acid.” Something moves out of the corner of your eye, in the hairline crack, and you jerk. A salamander is on the wall just to the right of you, it’s head cocked. It’s much smaller than the other two, it’s eyes cloudy white. It opens its mouth and you can see rows of tiny needle-like teeth in it’s maw before a bubble expands. You let out a squeal of fear as it pops, the concrete becoming pockmarked where the acid falls, and you fall against Karkat. 

 

“Watch it,” Karkat hisses.

 

“Glub.” You both freeze. Looking back to the middle tunnel you find both of the salamanders looking at you. The one next to you moves and you almost swing the light towards the wall.

 

“John.” You don’t look at Karkat, but you focus on him as the Salamanders take a hesitant step towards you. “We’re going to go for the right tunnel, got it?” You swallow as the salamanders hiss and the little one shifts in your peripheral.

 

“Got it.” You both stay still a moment longer. 

 

“Thank for saving my life,” Karkat mutters as he stares straight ahead.

 

“No problem.” Next to you the little one hisses at your words.

 

“Go.” Both of you take off, feet pounding as you move. You don’t expect the salamanders to be fast. 

 

“Shit,” Karkat snaps as one of them rushes forwards, running at a diagonal and going up the wall. It’s heading right for him. Next to you the little one keeps stride, hissing as it does. You swing with your hammer, miss, and watch as it disappears above you.

 

“Karkat,” you warn, but he’s a bit busy as the larger salamander on the wall launches itself at you both, mouth wide. Karkat swings and connects, the blade slicing thru its upper jaw and knocking it aside. “Holy shit,” you breathe, but your awe is quickly interrupted. Something drops onto your head. Immediately you grab it, feel something cold and slick, hear the hiss. Before it can glub you throw it and hit the one still in the tunnel with the small body. Behind it two more appear and advance. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. You’re not going to make it, you’re not…

 

Karkat shoves you hard to the right and goes left, the Salamanders split. The one on the right goes for your feet, the other tries the wall again with Karkat. You vault yours and watch as another comes from the center pipe as Karkat avoids one falling from the ceiling. He’s going left. He said to go right. Karkat said to go right.

 

“Karkat!” You’re almost there. Oh god, there’s so many. 

 

“RUN!” he shouts. He disappears down the left tunnel, into the dark. You try to go with him, to jump over them, but more Salamanders pour out and you have turn back and head down the right or face them. 

 

_Karkat doesn’t even have a light._

 

There isn’t much time to think about that as you run, your weak beam bouncing as you listen to the things slither behind you. One of the larger ones shows up on your left and you hit it with the butt of the flashlight. It falls back. Another appears on your right and you swing. You can’t tell if the crunch was it’s skull or the wall. At this point all you care about is that it disappears.

 

You follow the turn in the tunnel, hear the things scurrying behind you and keep moving. You won’t let them catch you, you won’t. Another turn and cool wind brushes your face, and it’s not from running. Somewhere near the end you can see light. Oh god you can see light.

 

“Glub.” Something icy hot splashes the back of your calf and you hiss. It’s only a drop, but it burns horribly. You ignore it and push. You’re almost out, almost out, almost ou-

 

The drop takes you by surprise and you go down. Down into water that wraps around you tight and pulls. The flashlight slips from your fingers and is sucked away. You follow it into the blackness. A shout tries to come out as you scramble to swim with one hand, the other tight on your hammer, and you can taste that putrid water. You’re going to drown, you were so close and now you’re going to drown. The current pulls you, twists you, and then suddenly you’re going up, up, up. You hit something as you come out of the current and spin.

 

With a gasp you breach the surface of the water and suck in cold, fresh air. Dull light surrounds you as you whip your head around. Your glasses are gone but that doesn’t mean you can’t see the shapes, the colors. There are no shadows, no salamanders, no wind. The storm drain behind you bubbles sickly as you keep spinning.

 

“Karkat!” You cry out into the world. “Karkat!” Nothing answers but the lapping waves of Toluca lake.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took a little while, and is probably going to be the longest chapter I ever write for this story. I do hope you all enjoy!
> 
> For a copy of the maps used for Brookhave Hospital go ---> http://www.ign.com/wikis/silent-hill-hd-collection/Brookhaven_Hospital_(SH2)

_“Come on lil’man, get up.”_

Your head swims at the words and you groan. God damn do you ache, just how hard did he go this time around? 

_“Gonna burn your face off laying on that Tarmac.”_

“Stuff if Bro,” you grumble and sit up, rubbing your now very raw cheek. He’s right though, fucking sun-baked tarmac, shit’s worse than a sunburn. Just laying on it for a few minutes will cook you, leaving your skin tinged red. Once you even got a heat blister on your hand when you had told him it wasn’t hot. He had started at you through his shades as you stubbornly kept it there until you felt your eyes start to water. Bro had bandaged your hand and then had you strife with your left one, training you to be ambidextrous since you couldn’t use your dominant hand. You couldn’t hold anything in your right hand without a pain for almost two weeks. Bro never said anything about it, just made you do everything left handed. You never did it again.

“Um,” comes a voice you don’t recognize. “I think you have me confused with, uh, someone else.” Your eyes snap open. You’re not on the roof, you are not a kid, and the floor you were just sleeping on is not made out of shitty tar spread over your roof by heat baked construction workers. Instead, it’s made out of greasy metal, and it’s a wonder you don’t see the skin of your face sticking to it like an old frying pan. You shoot up off the floor and stumble back against the door, a hand going up to straighten your shades instinctively. The guy on the table is still there, his body held down by chains and cuffs, electricity zipping through his horns. Fuck, fuck you’re head is spinning again but you force yourself to stay standing. You will not pass out again, you will not leave yourself vulnerable like that.

“Did you have a nice nap?” he asks. You can’t find the words to respond. “I wish I could nap.” He sighs as he looks down at his chest. You look too and watch his heart beating through the hole. “It gets really, uh, boring when you can’t sleep.”

“Y-you can’t sleep?” you ask him as your hands run over the wall behind you. It had been a door, you’re sure of it, but where’s the fucking handle? You don’t dare to look away from this guy as your hands silently search. This guy looks harmless, his body so emaciated he’s more bone than flesh, but you’re not going to chance it. 

“Not anymore,” he replies with a smile that makes your stomach churn. His lips can’t really move right to smile, the muscles in his cheeks jumping too much as he tries not to cringe. “Gamzee says I can’t let my brain fall asleep even for a second, or I’ll, uh, die again.”

“Again?” you ask the question before you really get a chance to think about if you want to know the answer. Really, you’re not sure you do, because fuck if you want to know how this poor bastard ended up being half made out of metal.

“Yeah,” he replies. “He didn’t, um...he didn’t take the first time too well.” Tavros looks down at his chest and you swallow. Whatever had torn him a new one must have been the first death. You can’t even begin to imagine how it would feel to have something shoved through your chest.

“Is that right?” you ask and fucking hell where did the handle go! Being in here with this...guy? is making you feel way too uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Tavros nods. “And, you know, if you want to leave you just need to, uh, push.” Your hands freeze and you stare at him. “It’s okay,” he says with another one of his not quite smiles. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to be around me if I was, me.” There is no anger in his voice, just a tinge of sadness and pain that makes your hands stop searching. “Just reset the code first so he doesn’t know you were here.” 

“Code?” you ask and let yourself look over your shoulder. Next to you is some sort of button pad, four of the ten digits are shiny compared to the rest of it. There are two buttons at the bottom as well. One says ‘lock’ the other ‘reset’.

“Yeah,” Tavros replies. “I don’t know the current one though, I can’t really see when he puts it in.” He looks down at his metal toes and his face falls. “Sorry, I’m kinda useless.” 

Your chest suddenly gets really tight, you heart aching. What is up with this guy? He’s sitting here looking more battered than Frankenstein’s monster, and yet he’s helping you get out of this hell hole? If it was you, you would have been demanding to be let out, or at least have the fucking plug pulled. Wait…

“What was it you asked me before I took that nap,” you ask him, and his eyes come up.

“Oh, uh, nothing.” Amazingly enough, you can see brown tinging his cheeks, like a chocolate blush.

“You asked me to kill you...didn’t you.” The way his body seems to slump you know that you’re right. “If I did that, wouldn’t this Gamzee guy just bring you back?”

“Not if you broke the machines,” Tavros replies and looks up. Your eyes follow his to an odd three pronged contraption hanging from the ceiling. All you can think is that it looks almost like one of those claw things from the games you used to play at the arcade, like it is poised and ready to drop down and grab Tavros and haul him somewhere else. All the electricity seems to be coming from it, wires cascading down to the different machines in the room and electricity zipping from the prongs to Tavros’s horns.

“I don’t think I can reach that,” you reply. He shakes his head, those massive horns of his only able to move a few inches. The movement seems to cause him pain.

“Not that machine,” he replies. “The other ones. The power sources.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So, like generators or something.” Tavros almost looks excited as he nods his head.

“Yes, like those,” he says. “Gamzee once told me about how he was keeping me alive, said that his ‘miracle machines’ would keep me going. Said that each one did something else.” Tavros tilts his head up as much as he can and starts to point with his nose. “That one is supposed to keep my brain working.” You aren’t sure which of the prongs he is pointing to, but you look up nonetheless. “That one is supposed to control all the machines, and that one,” he tilts his head back. “Keeps my heart going.” 

“So I would need to do, what exactly?” you ask, and you can’t believe you’re actually thinking about killing this guy. When you look at his face though you find it hard to think of anything else. He looks so hopeful like you just told him you were going to give him everything he wanted for Christmas and proved that Santa Claus is real.

“You have to turn the one to my brain and the uh, life support machines off first,” he says as he looks back up. “If those two are going you can’t turn off the third one, the one that’s over there, because it will keep my heart going even without the first two, and keeps part of my brain awake. It’s the most important.”

“Okay, well why can’t I just go shut it off first?” You take a few steps towards the machine behind him.

“No no,” Tavros says as you go. “You can’t touch it yet.” As you walk around him you see what he’s talking about. The thing looks like one of those old computers in the early sci-fi movies. It’s huge, covered in buttons and levers that look like they were yanked out of a junk yard. There is one large lever in the center, and sparks of electricity dance around it like a lightning rod, the shocks random and unpredictable. “The other generators keep it protected.” Tavros calls back to you as you look at the other machines that are collected behind him. 

One of them looks like it’s filled with chocolate, and you follow the lines only to feel your stomach heave. The back of whatever odd bed thing he is sitting up in is gone, his back fully shown from just below the shoulder blades to his hips. From it you can see his heart better, tubes going in and out of it, circulating the odd brown liquid. You can also see where metal meets flesh. There are panels and rivets showing around his hips where you can see his flesh is slowly rotting away. 

Turning away, you try and find something else to look at. There is something akin to a heart monitor, though there is no sound, just a jumping light that is keeping in time with the base line of ticking in the room. Above you is some sort of IV drip, murky water traveling down it into Tavros’s arm. There are others that just seem to be stock piled and sitting around, like a graveyard of tools.

“What’s your name?” he asks as you start coming around the other side.

“Huh?” you reply, too jarred to understand the sentence.

“Your name, what is it?” 

“Yeah, sorry. It’s Dave,” you tell him and come up to the side of his table. “Dave Strider. And you’re, Tavros, right?” You think that was the name he gave you before you passed out.

“Yep,” he replies, and the smile on his face doesn’t look too pained this time. 

“Right,” you say and rub a hand through your hair. “Well, Tavros, can you point me towards where these other generators are?” 

Someone shouldn’t smile that big when what you’re technically asking them ‘how do I kill you’.

****

Your flashlight bounces around the hall as you close the door behind you quietly. Tavros had told you that the door would stay unlocked until you reset the code, and like hell you’re locking it again unless you need to. Not like those Nakadiles know how to open a door anyways. Tentatively you peek your head through the double doors that lead back out into the main entrance area. 

“One of them is upstairs, on the roof I think, but I’m, uh, not totally sure,” he had told you. “And the other is somewhere in the basement.” You’re really not looking forward to that one.

“Couldn’t have all just been on the same floor,” you murmur as you sidle out into the hall keeping your back tight to the wall. “Just had to be all over the place.” You haven’t heard anything so far. No nakadiles, no soft cries for ‘mama’. You jerk across the hall to the stairwell and grab the handle. It comes off in your hand.

“Fuck,” you bite out as you stare down at the lump of metal in your hand and look back at the door. You push it a bit but nothing happens. It might as well just be an extension of the wall. “Really?” you ask to nothing in particular. “That’s how this shits going to go down?” Sighing, you jerk out the hospital map and take a look. There is another set of stairs down the other hall, near the garden you had left. Great. 

Putting the map back in your pack, you turn to go down the hallway. With all the walls having partially dissolved into nothing more than moving clockwork you can sometimes catch glimpses behind them, and you really don’t want to look. In one small hole, you think you see the flash of a smile and hurry past the door and ignore the trembling sound of its knob trying to turn. Your light stays on the floor, and so do your eyes, though it is hard not to jerk every which way when you hear things scratching behind the doors you pass and you keep see things flitting around in your peripheral. 

The doors you had banged out of when escaping the gardens are still partially opened, allowing you to glimpse down the hall. Red eyes sit glowing near the end, and you can hear the slightest of growls. There is nothing that will get you down that hallway, and you quickly drop your beam as you turn towards the elevator and stairwell. The staircase door sits on awkwardly hanging hinges, and creeks when you open it. Something shuffles down the hall behind you. You try to open it as softly as you can, but the ruckus it makes is ridiculous, so you instead jar it open, step inside, and pull it shut. You turn off your light as you stand in the dark and hold your breath and stare out the window in the door. It’s hard to see the hallway doors at this angle, but you can just barely make out a nakadile making its way passed.

‘Keep going,’ you pray to yourself. ‘Keep moving you piece of shit.’ For once your prayers seem to be answered, because it simply keeps moving down the hall and out of site. You let out the softest of sighs as you turn back to the stairwell. By taking off your shades and securing them in your pouch, you find that you can see just fine with the trickles of lava in the walls, and as you climb the metal stairs you decide against using your light just in case. Better to save your batteries. 

The second-floor landing has literally nothing to it past the door. The stairs heading up to the roof are simply gone; just metal stubbs barely jutting from the walls. You don’t understand how anything could do that. 

“Looks like I’ll have to find another way,” you murmur and push out onto the second floor. Here you turn on your light, the lava light unable to fill the larger space as you walk. It is your hope that the other stairwell will be accessible from up here. Carefully you walk down the hall. There isn’t much to see, just more doors, though the rooms behind them are larger. It makes it harder to catch a glimpse of anything, and you aren’t sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

You’re surprised to find another door at the end of the hall with the plaque for ‘Day Room’ on it. The bottom of the door is cut away, allowing a cord to spill out from underneath. You follow it up the side of the wall with your eyes towards the ceiling where it disappears into a dark hole. You tug at the door, but you quickly find that it is locked tight. The keypad next to it is also dark. 

“Hang in there Tavros,” you murmur as you stare at the door for a moment. Behind you something clicks and you whirl. There is nothing there, just a shut door. With a shaky breath you push on the other set of double doors next to you and find them locked as well. Through their smudged glass you can see the other stairwell door, and you can’t help but swallow when you see it’s condition. The thing has been wrenched off it’s hinges, the bottom of the door just barely in view from where it has been thrown.

“The fuck happened?” you murmur and glance around. There is another door pad, and this one is lit up. Just like the the one in the day room there are some buttons that aren’t as dirty as the other. “1,3,4,9,0,” you murmur and stare at them. You jab your finger at them in order half hazardly and find the door wanting another number. You jab the one again and get a small buzzing sound.

“Fuck,” you bite out and kick at the door. Behind you there is another click and you spin. The door behind you has half of a plaque on it, the left side showing the universal symbol for ‘man’ on it while the other half is broken. It barely registers in your mind that what you are looking at is a bathroom. The only thing that matters to you is that the door is now cracked. Swallowing hard, you keep your light trained on the door as you begin to shuffle back down the hall, closer to the wall.

“H-hello?” you stammer. The air ticks around you as you go and the heat from the lava drips warms your back. You aren’t expecting a reply.

“Hello?” Everything in you freezes. That couldn’t have been right, that voice. “Hello?” it asks again and you find yourself taking a step forwards instead of back. There is a shadow behind the door, a tall one, with broad shoulders and a spikiness coming off of it’s head.

“It can’t be,” you breathe as you get a bit closer, the light shaking. “Bro?” 

“Bro?” it asks back, and your heart is in your throat. It can’t be him, he’s long gone, dead and buried, but you will never forget his voice. You can’t, and that is what is coming out from behind that door.

Your feet keep moving closer, your light shaking. “It’s me,” trickles from your throat. “It’s Dave.” The clicking that follows makes you pause.

“Dave?” his voice says, and it doesn’t sound right. It’s like it’s tasting your name. You inch in just a little more. “Daaaaave,” he repeats and draws out the A in an almost squawking sound. There is a slight trembling in your pocket as your phone comes to life.

With shaking hands you bring the light up, and god you wish you hadn’t as you freeze. The face behind the door isn’t Bro’s, it’s not even human. The thing comes out from behind the door slowly, head tilting to the side, and you really want to back up now, but your legs aren’t quite getting the message.

“Dave,” it repeats in his voice, only it’s not quite his voice. It’s a mimic, and imitation, just like the oily feathers on the top of its head only imitate the shape of his hair. The things face has two large eyes in it with impossibly large pupils ringed in a color that was buried with your brother. “Hello, Daaaave.” Your name comes drawn out not between lips, but a beak that clicks when it comes shut. The place where it sprouts from the human like face is covered in stitches and decaying skin. The thing smells like oil and burning flesh, and something slick and black is running down the patches of skin that isn’t covered with feathers. The clothing it wears is torn up, the jeans barely holding onto it, and the boots it wears are torn out at the toes. It’s nails click when they touch the metal of the floor.

It tilts its head to look at you better with one amber eye. “Dave?” it questions again.

“You’re not Bro,” you manage before you take off in a dead sprint.

“Daaaaaaaaaaaave!” it scream after you, and oh god you can hear it’s nails on the floor behind you. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, you have to get away from it! There are doors on your left, and as you near the end of the hall you hurl yourself against one of them. It swings inwards and you go with it as you keep a death grip on the handle, ready to turn and shut it, only there isn’t a floor in the room you enter. Instead you find yourself hanging over a rather large pit of lava, Nakodiles stare up at you from the glowing waves.

“Dave!” the thing screams as it rounds the corner, and you watch it attempt to pause, but its momentum is too much. It flaps it’s arms hard, feather peeling from its body, and it grabs your ankle as it falls. 

“Get off,” you scream at it as you shake your leg. “Get the fuck off!” You want to chuck your flashlight at it, but it’s caught between your hand and the door knob, and if you let go you are fucked.

“Dave,” it screams up at you, gripping your ankle hard. “Dave, Bro.” 

You kick its wrist hard with your other foot and hear something snap. The creature, this bird bro, falls like a stone into the waiting maw of a Nakodile. With something like a sob you watch the nakodiles tear apart what they can while the rest burns away. You feel the knob under your hand starting to give and turn to look at the door. 

Little more than a foot behind you is some sort of a ledge jutting out from the all. It is much closer than the doorway, the door having swung out with your momentum. You try and swing your leg up to it, but there is no way that’s going to work. You hear metal creak and the door starts to pull from its hinges.

“Come on,” you grit as your arms ache, your shoulder a smoldering coal in it’s socket. “Come on.” You rock on the door, though the straining hinges move only slightly. It gets you closer, but it also makes the door shudder dangerously. “Almost,” you pant and reach your foot out again. “Almost, there.” Your toes touch as the door gives way, and with what strength you can pull from your arms, you push. You find yourself pressed against the wall for only a moment before you both hear and feel the stone beneath your feet crumbling. Instinct makes you move, sidling along the ledge down the length of the room, and to your right you can see a door and then a hole in the far wall.

“Please please please,” you beg as you grip at the door handle. It doesn’t budge, but the floor does. You keep going, quicker than ever, trying to get away from the crumbling ground. The sound of stone splashing into the lava below greets your ears, and all you can hope is that at least one or two of the rocks lands on the nakodiles below. Just as the floor beneath you runs out you make it to the hole in the wall, and you jump. It puts you mostly inside the room, one of your legs hanging out. There is a nak of pain below you as what is left of the ledge crumbles away behind you. 

“I’m alive,” you pant in amazement as you roll over to look at the ceiling. “Holy fuck I’m alive.” The laughter comes slowly. It starts as a single chuckle that bubbles up inside of your throat, then a chortle, and slowly it builds until it rings through the room.

“Do you hear me you fucker!” you scream at the ceiling. “I’m alive and your fucking croc-chow you piece of shit. I beat you, Bro!” The second the words are out the laughing starts to die into hiccups. “Fucking outlived you, you piece of shit.” The sobs hurt more than the laughter, sinking deep into your chest as you pull your foot in through the hole and curl up on your side, not caring if the hilt to your sword is digging into your hip. 

“Fuck you, Bro.” Down below the nakodiles nak away as your tears slowly sizzle and evaporate off the floor.

*****  
_On top of the roof Bro lays the little bird down on one of the large concrete blocks the builders left._

_“Are we going to help him fly again?” you ask as you step up next to him and watch the birds feathers flutter in the wind._

_“No Dave,” he says gently. “He’s not going to be flying again, but we are going to help him.” You turn towards him when you hear his sword come out._

_“B-Bro?” you ask gently._

_“Poor guy broke his neck,” he tells you. “Probably can’t feel a thing right now. He’s all scared and panicked, but he can’t even ruffle a feather.” Bro looks down at you. “Even if we could save him, what kind of life would he have if he could never fly again? Never move?”_

_You look up at him and then back at the bird. Its eyes swivel up to look at you, but that is the only thing that moves. Swallowing, you feel your heart in your throat and your stomach sink to your shoes. What kind of life would it be if he couldn’t move? Couldn’t go fly with his bird bros?_

_“It wouldn’t be living,” you tell him. Bro nods and pats your shoulder._

_“It’s okay, Dave,” he tells you softly. “He’s already dead, his brain just needs some help getting the message.” Bro offers you his sword._

_You stare at it and then look up at him._

_“You’re not going to let the little guy suffer, are you?”_

*****

You must have dozed off again because the skin on your face feels raw. Sitting up, you look around the room. Thankfully your flashlight is laying a few feet away, and it’s pure dumb luck you managed to keep a handle on the damn thing, though its light is definitely looking dimmer. With a groan, you reach for it with your ‘good’ arm, though neither of your shoulders is worth shit right now. You grab it and try to stand and find that at least you can do that ok. Doing a lazy spin you find yourself in an almost empty room, the only things you can see are some shitty looking papers lying on an old cot.

“Weird place to keep a diary,” you try to joke and walk over to the pages. Picking them up you sit heavily on the cot and recline slightly. One of the most untidy scrawls you have ever seen is written over the pages, the letters looking odd and wavy, though you somehow manage to make them out in the wavering beam of your flashlight.

_JuSt CaN’t LeT a MoThErFuCkEr Go. NoT mY tAvBrO. NoT aFtEr ThAt SpIdEr BiTcH aLl Up AnD tOoK mY mOtHeRfUcKiN bEsT fRiEnD tOo. BuT i’Ll GeT hEr BaCk. GoT tHe MoThErFuCkEr WhO aLl Up AnD gAvE tHaT bItCh HeR aRm AgAiN. GoNnA mAkE hIm GeT tAvRos WaLkInG lIke He AlL uP aNd ShOuLd. WhAt WiTh My KitTy SiStEr ReCeIvInG mY oWn SpEcIaL tReAtMeNt He AiN’t GoT a MoThErFuCkInG cHoIcE. aNd ThEn, WhEn TaVrOs Is WaLkInG, wE’Ll Go PaY tHaT bItCh A vIsIt._

The page ends and you move onto the next.

_MOThErfuCKEr Can’T EVen GeT ThIS shIT rIgHt. AlL he’S gOt To uP aND dO is geT TAVROS WalKinG agaIn. ThOugh i guESS hE diD gEt hiS heARt PieCE jUmpIng. To BaD my WICKEd Rust SisTer Had TO try aND InTerRupt. NoT ThaT iT MATterS mUch Now. BiTchES tImE wILL be Up WhEn I GEt my MotHerFuckIng haND pIecES aLL up On Her throat._

You swallow and go to the next slip of paper. He couldn’t be talking about Aradia? Could he?

_the bitch took them. UP AND TOOK THEM FROM UNDER MY MOTHERFUCKIN NOSE. but she didn’t get tavros. DIDN’T SNATCH HIM UP. i made sure she couldn’t move my motherfucker away from me. NOT WITHOUT STOPPING HIS PUSHER AGAIN. not that she could do it so motherfucking easily even if she wanted. HAD EQUIUS ALL UP AND MAKE SURE THAT TAVROS COULDN’T LEAVE ME. put two of those little miracle machines at the tip motherfucking top, and lowest of the low places in this bitch. AND JUST FOR THE LAUGHS HAD HIM PUT ANOTHER RIGHT IN THERE WITH TAVROS. but she took my blue brother before he could finish him. MAKE HIM MOTHERFUCKING WHOLE SO THAT NO ONE WOULD EVEN THINK OF PULLING HIS PLUG. i’m gonna kill that bitch for that. SPLIT THAT TWO FACED WHORE RIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE AND GIVE A PIECE TO EACH OF THE MESSIAHS. maybe they can get tavbro walking. NOW ALL I’VE GOT TO DO IS FIND THEM. then we can get this dark carnival started and let the screams start pouring out._

By the end of the note your hand is shaking a little. So Aradia had come to save Equius and some other person who were trapped here, and she had ended up dead because of it. You find one more note scrawled over the bottom of the last message, the words barely legible.

_gonna let my little friends watch over my lock piece for me. KEEP IT NICE AND MOTHERFUCKING SAFE. besides, no ones pan dead enough to walk over their swimming hole. MY SHIT WILL BE SAFE ALL UP IN ITS COOL LITTLE CONTAINER. and just incase the information leaks out of my pan. ‘0,4,1,3,0,9’_

“John’s birthday? The fuck?” Weird as it is, it is a code, so you fold it up and stick it in your pocket along with the day room note. Standing, you look at the hole in the wall. Was this the place he was talking about? You walk over to the edge and look down. The room is completely empty except for the lava and Nakadiles splashing around in the lava. Then you look up and feel your heart sink. Above all that lava is a set of keys hanging just out of your reach off of what looks like a sprinkler head.

“Fuck you, Gamzee,” is all you can think to say as you look around the room for something to use. The only thing that could possibly give you the reach you need is attached to your hip and is fucking heavy to boot. “Maybe I can find something else,” you wonder out loud and head to the door. The second you turn the handle you know that’s not going to work. Fucking things locked.

“How in the fuck?” you wonder out loud before shaking your head. It doesn’t matter. You need to get those keys. Heading back to the hole you pull out your sword and feel your shoulders burn. This is not going to be fun. Lifting it even above your head is almost too painful to do as you try and slip the tip under the key ring. It’s not the best of ideas, but like fuck you can do anything else. 

One swipe, two swipe, you watch them dangle on the hook until they fall, the ring catching on the end of your sword just barely. As slowly as you can manage you pull your sword back in and let it and the keys drop, your arms having reverted back into jelly. The key ring sits on the ground. There are five keys, and two of them are snapped in half. Great. 

Stooping, you pick up your sword and sheath it before you grab the keys. You walk to the door on shaking legs before pausing. Might as well make use of your little safe haven while you can. Going back to the cot you pull out one of the apple juices you found and one of your protein bars. You only have one left of each. 

The apple juice has gone warm, and it’s almost sickeningly sweet as you sip it, but it definitely perks you up. The bar makes you feel better as well, the food filling you up some before you are left with nothing but an empty bottle and wrapper. You throw them out the hole in the wall before going back to the door.

With significantly steadier hands you try the keys and find that the second one is the one for this door. You slip it in, turn the key, and the door swings open on harsh hinges. Peeking your head out you find nothing. Moving as quickly as you dare you head towards the door with the keypad and punch in John’s birthday. “Zero, four, one, three, zero, nine,” you murmur and push in each key with a little more force than you probably need. 

There is a clicking sound and the door pushes open easily under your hand. Stepping into the hall you look to your right. The door is laying on the floor, pointing down the hallway. Something shifts near the end and you quickly hurry into the open stairwell, the buzzing in your pocket dying as soon as it starts. There is a clicking sound behind you, like the sound the bird bro made. You don’t turn back.

The stairs lead up to the third floor, and then the roof. You find the roof’s door locked. Going through the key ring you find that the key with ‘R’ on it has been snapped off at the base.

“Can’t people take care of their fucking keys?” Sitting on the steps you pull out your map and take a look at the third floor, searching to see if anything else might lead to the roof. Instead, your eyes stop on the 3rd floor where they spot ‘special treatment’. Hadn’t Gamzee said something about that in his note? 

“Well, it’s all I got,” you mutter and stand up again before clopping down the stairs and onto the third-floor landing. The door opens under your hands, and immediately your phone starts buzzing. With a shaking hand, you push out your flashlight and look around. There is a door just across from you, and behind its glass you can see something moving. You immediately drop the light and slowly sidle around the corner and move towards the special treatment rooms. Even when you slip in the door and shut it behind you, your phone continues to buzz. Shining the light down the short hall you find four rooms. All the doors are shut, though there is glass set in each one to let you look inside.

“I’m gonna regret this,” you sigh as you look in the first window. Well no wonder your phone is buzzing, one of those bird things is in here. It’s just standing still and looking out a hole in the dirty padded walls. Slowly it turns to look at you and you swallow. You expect it to rush the door, but instead it turns back to the hole, tips forwards, and is gone. With a shudder you move away from the door and go to the next as your phone goes silent. The glass in this one is shattered, and there is something blue and congealed sticking to the shards of glass.

“The fuck?” you wonder aloud and look inside. There are smears of blue all over, and the handprints you see look very familiar. Actually the color is very familiar, and when you shine your light in the room you can see small gears and cogs crushed into the floor. “Equius?” You can’t know for sure, and upon finding nothing else of interest you go to the next room. This one is lined with green, but not in the hand prints and smears of the last room. No, this room is covered in odd drawings, the green ink drying and flaking off of the padded walls. On one wall you can make out twelve shapes, each one with different types of what you think are horns coming out of their heads. Some of them have crosses through them.

Your flashlight pauses over the first one in line. “Aradia,” you mutter as you recognize the shape of her horns. Moving over to the next you find one that has horns like Tavros. You move down the line, seeing small details on the pictures until you come to the fifth from the end. It’s scribbled out, not crossed, the horns barely distinguishable, and you wonder if maybe that one is Gamzee, but then you move over two more and pause. The person pictured has horns that go up in a kind of spiral, the tips much higher than the others. Over its body there isn’t an X in green, but three jagged claw marks across it. “It was you in the animal hospital,” you say to the wall as you stare at it. “You’re Gamzee.” The picture of course does not speak back.

Pulling away you go to the last door and find that there is definitely something inside. It looks like some sort of white chest shoved back against the far corner, though it takes up most of the floor where it lays. There is a large amount of straps on it and a lock keeping them in place. Picking through the keys you have you find one with an ST on it and put it in the lock. With a click you are able to get inside. As you move your light over the thing you realize it isn’t a chest, but a refrigerator, and you kind of wonder how in the hell that got in here. Kneeling down you inspect the lock that is holding the straps in place only to find it doesn’t take a normal key.

“What the fuck?” you grumble as you run your finger over the two circular indents in the bottom of the lock. Looking back at the key ring you sigh. Now where the fuck was this key? Unless...you take the broken keys, their sides sticking out at jagged points, and push them into the holes. The keys sinks in a little, and with a harsh jerk you manage to turn them. The lock pops open, and the straps trapped inside it spring away. You shove the keys back in your pouch.

“Well alright then.” You lean in to push up the top only to find that it’s stuck fast. You slide your fingers along the sides to push away the straps and find that they aren’t holding it shut. Grabbing the handle on top you try again, but it doesn’t budge. The damn thing is stuck. With a grunt of annoyance you pull out your sword and shove the tip inside. You are going to get this fucking thing open. It takes a little force to get the tip past the lip, but in a few moments you hear an air seal break and the lid moves a fraction of an inch. 

“Fuck yeah.” You resheath your sword and grab the handle. With a single tug, the top swings up on old hinges. The smell that greets your nose is horrendous. Stumbling into the hall you wretch as the smell oozes past you. 

“Holy fuck,” you cough as you wipe your mouth with your wrist, the taste of warm apple juice and bile on your tongue. Covering your nose with your hand you inch back into the room and look inside. What you find makes you lean to the side and vomit against the wall. Well you know where Tavros’s legs went. They are folded neatly inside the refrigerator, though the flesh is quickly decaying if the smell is any indication. Your eyes sting as your light goes over the legs, and a glint catches your eye. There is a key hooked over one of the toes. Leaning in you almost puke again as your fingers touch the cool, damp flesh as you pull off the key, and in doing so you pull off a toe. Bile rises in your throat and you swallow before you shut the fridge again. It doesn’t get rid of the smell. 

Stumbling out of the room you take a deep breath of the air that doesn’t smell like burnt and rotting flesh. You can’t exactly call it fresh air, but it’s better than what you had just been breathing. Flashing your light over the key you find an ‘R’ on it.

“Well thank god,” you sigh as you head back towards the stairs. You ignore your phone as you pass by the door that had the thing behind it and head into the stairwell. The clicking is your only warning before something rushes up the stairs at you. On pure instinct you kick out and watch as the bird bro takes your foot to it’s beak, sending it’s head back before it tumbles down the stairs. You take in deep panting breaths as you stare at its crumpled form at the bottom, something dark dripping from it’s beak as it shudders. It isn’t hard to tell you just broke the things neck.

“Fuck,” you pant as your phone dies down. “Just...Fuck.” You take the stairs up to the roof quickly and slide the key into the slot. The door opens with the creek you are so accustomed to now, and a hot breeze blows past you. Climbing out onto the roof you look around wide eyed and swallow. In every direction you can see there is lava, broken buildings, and random islands of twisted metal and stone. You turn slowly on top of the roof, eyes looking out over everything. The sky is dark except for what looks like a crescent moon off in the distance, the rising heat warping it into a twisted smile. In the center of the roof is the generator Tavros told you about. The machine is steaming, oil dripping lazily down onto the metal. 

“Finally,” you mutter as you stride over to it, passing a small shed like thing across from the stairs. The quicker you shut this fucker off the quicker you can get out of here and head down the stairs to the basement. God you hope those stairs go to the basement. Stepping up to it you look at the controls. There are five levers, each one with a different number behind it. The numbers aren’t what you are interested in though, what you’re interested in are the handprints on the levers and the large red button on the side. The black knobs have something brown caked onto them in varying degrees, the green button that is currently lit tinged with it as well, and you can only guess as to where that brown came from. 

“Three, four, one, two, five,” you mutter as you gauge which lever has the most to the least amount of brown. “Hope I don’t have to do this backwards.” You pull the third lever, and it makes a horrible grinding sound that makes your teeth feel like they itch. A light behind it appears. You reach for the fourth lever, which feels a bit loose, and then the fifth, until all five lights are glowing. 

“Here goes nothing.” You reach over and push the red button. The machine shutters as the cogs you see start to slow. You’ve done it, the machine is shutting down. You aren’t sure if the sound that comes out of you is happy or not, because while it is a relief to have this one shut down that means that down below Tavros is probably in a lot of pain. As the machine comes to a stop you notice the fourth lever is hanging lower than the others.

Grabbing it you twist a little and watch as the bolt on it moves. You do it again, and then again, and finally it comes off in your hands, the nut and bolt that had been holding it rolling away. You swing the thing a little.

“No ones turning this thing on ever again,” you mutter as you swing it down onto the machine. It sends vibrations up your arms, but hearing a slight crunch as it smacks down on another lever is worth it. You do it a few more times, dislodge another lever, and smash the green button all the way in. Once you’re satisfied, you step back, grab the other lever, and head to the edge. 

“One down, Tavros,” you murmur before tossing them over the side. You watch them tumble into the lava where they float for just a moment before being swallowed by the magma.

“Daaaave.” Jolting, you turn back towards the stairwell and see a bird bro standing in the doorway, it’s head turned towards you. “Dave.” In your peripheral you see something climbing over the side of the roof and your phone starts to vibrate. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. There is no way you’re getting past that thing...but maybe.

“Yeah, I’m right over here, bird brain,” you call back and start to circle around. The thing on your left pulls itself up, and it’s another bird bro. Slowly you circle around the back of the machine, the two birdmen rounding the other. If you can just get them on the other side then maybe, maybe you can get down the stairwell. That is if there aren’t more down there. 

“Come on,” you call out. “Come and get me.” The bird bros just circle the machine with you until your back is to the stairwell. You bolt. The second you see the stairwell you shift to run towards the shack across from it, the head of another one of those creatures sticking out into the lava light. You hit the door and spin with it, shutting it hard and turning the lock. Outside the glass you see more of the creatures climbing up.

“Dave, DAVE!” you hear outside as the things start to surround the shack, a few of them peeking in through the dirty glass of the windows. You scurry back into the far corner, away from the windows, and begin to search. There is no way you can take on this many of them with how your shoulders are, let alone one. The one in the stairwell had been pure dumb-luck. You have to find a way out. Maybe there’s a hole, or a knife. Maybe a gun?

There is a squawk of pain and you look up just in time to see a bird bro go flying past the glass followed by another.

“Which of you motherfucker’s did it,” you hear and freeze. The bird bros are backing away from the shack and stairwell, and in their place you can see something passing by the glass. “Which of you went and shut off the fucking miracle currents keeping my Tavbro’s machines humming?”

“Dave,” one of them caws out. You hear the sound of something wet tearing and a deathly cough.

“Your name doesn’t tell me shit,” it growls. Slowly you stand up from the floor and get closer to the glass. Whatever you were expecting it’s not this guy. From the horns and the way it talks you’re pretty sure this guy is Gamzee, but you thought he was going to be, well...bigger. Not to say he isn’t tall as fuck, but you had thought that he would maybe be a bit more ripped, not that you can really tell from behind the glass. From what you can see, though, he looks pretty lean; pole thin and twisted like his horns. A bird bro lurches towards him and a club raises from nowhere. You thought that it had been part of his leg it’s so long and large. It comes down on the thing effortlessly, crushing it.

“Get out of here,” he grits out. The bro birds do as he says, climbing over the sides of the roof, some even throwing themselves over. Gamzee looks over the roof, and when he looks towards the room you’re in you duck, but not before you see his eyes. You know those eyes, you’ve seen them before, and those scratches on his face are too horrible to forget.

Peaking your head up a bit, you watch him go towards the generator and know you’ve got maybe ten seconds before he realizes he’s never going to get that thing turned back on. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you bite out as you start searching again. As quietly as you can you search for something under the control panels up here. Where the fuck are you anyways? Your fingers catch on something the second that Gamzee lets out a scream that makes your insides turn to cold jelly.

“Where are they!?” he roars. “What did you motherfuckers all up and do with them!” You wrench the thing upwards and look down, flicking on your light as you do. There are cables of some sort running down, and at the bottom you see some sort of box. Right beneath the opening there is a ladder. It takes you a second to realize it’s an elevator shaft. Fucking beautiful.

The floor rattles and you jump. Looking out the window you watch that large club of his come up, and then down again on the machine, dismantling it more than you could ever have hoped for. You wiggle your way down inside the trap door, the space pretty damn small, and you wonder how anyone but a kid could easily get in and out of this thing. Slowly you start to make your way down when the window explodes. Glass rains down over your head as you throw up a hand to cover your eyes. There is a heavy thud as the club Gamzee had been swinging lands near you. Heavy, deep pants can be heard over the ticking of the world.

“Why hello there Motherfucker,” Gamzee says slowly, and it chills you as you look up at the ruined wall. “Now where are you all up and going? Don’t ya know it’s rude to not introduce yourself to a brother?” His eyes are bright as they stare at you, the purple irises flashing, and when they do you feel pure ice in your belly. “Let me all up and start. I’m Gamzee Makara, what’s your name?” 

Everything inside you is shaking as you stare at him. “D-Dave Strider.” The words don’t feel like they are actually yours as they stutter out of your mouth. Gamzee is smiling at you as you speak, and there is something smeared over his face, making him look clown like beneath the purple cuts. 

He licks his lips. “Hey, Dave,” he says softly. “You want to up and tell me what you did to my machine?” His eyes seem to glow as he says it and suddenly you need to run, holy fuck you need to run because he’s going to kill you. He’s going to tear out your motherfucking red orbs and drink in their miracle color. 

Your foot slips as you go to move down the ladder and you slide down a few rungs, breaking eye contact as you go. With a gasp you grab the ladder again and cling to it.

“Where you going, Strider?” he calls after you, and good god your name sounds wrong in his mouth. “I need to up and get a feelings jam on with you.” You can’t move down the ladder fast enough, your feet and hands clanging down with each movement. “Seeing as you’re wanting to go and take my miracle brother away from me.” The last sentence is dripping with so much anger and hate that it makes you stumble on your way down.

You chance a glance up and see his face framed in the square of half light above you. The beam of your flashlight lights up his grin, makes the deep purple lines over his face look so much worse than they had before. 

“Come on, bro,” he says. “I’m not going to kill ya. Bet Tavbro wouldn’t mind having a motherfucker like you around for company.” His hand reaches down through the hole, and oh god is it long. It’s so fucking long. He’s going to grab you, he’s going to--

You fall back just before his nails touch you, and when you hit the elevator car beneath you knocks the air out of your lungs. The groan that follows isn’t from you, but the elevator. Staring up you find that Gamzee’s hand is most definitely reaching down the hole, but it isn’t nearly as close as you thought it was.

“See you down below, Dave,” he says with a grin before the elevator shudders beneath you and plummets. It doesn’t fall far, but when it does hit the ground you find yourself gasping for breath from the jolt, your back and lungs aching. God damn it, elevators are starting to be worse than the goddamn stairs. Above you, Gamzee lets out a honking laugh before pulling away from the open square of pale light and slams the trap door shut. 

“Fuck,” you wheeze as you grab your flashlight. You’re lucky you didn’t fall on your fucking sword. Sitting up is way more painful than you thought possible, but you do it anyways, because if what Gamzee just said is true then he’s on his way down now. While your flashlight is still somehow working the beam now looks really odd, and when you turn it towards you a little you can see a large crack down the glass face.

“God damn this thing is tough,” you mutter and look around the top of the elevator. To your left is the top of the two doors the elevator would usually line up with, but you’ve sunk down at least a good two feet below that. They are opened just slightly, and you can see the heat rising from between the doors. 

_‘Well this is going to feel fucking phenomenal,’_ you think. Getting your hand in the crack you feel heat pour over your knuckles before you push the two doors aside, and in doing so heat hits you hard in the face. You have to cough as you breathe in the air, eyes squinting to look into the room. The hall is nothing but hanging platforms, the supports bolted in the ceiling while lava flows freely below. 

“What the fuck,” you cough as you put the flashlight away, the lava flow giving you enough light to see by. Tentatively you touch the poles holding up the platforms, and find that they feel like touching an over heated bowl from the microwave. Too hot to grab for long, but you can still grab them. With a deep breath you grab and pull yourself out, feet hitting the metal below you with a sizzle. Warmth pool uncomfortably in the bottom of your shoes and you move quickly. Last thing you need is for the soles of your shoes to stick. There is only one way to go, and that is to follow the platforms around to corner.

‘Forwards it is then,’ you think as you move, the heat around you making you perspire more than you thought possible. In no time it is dripping down your nose and soaking through your clothing. It’s easy to see where you’re going when you round the corner, the machine running above the chasm on it’s own clump of platforms, right in the center of a grid of three by three. It’s so hot you can barely walk to it, though when you do make it to the machine you’re not sure what to do with it. This one has the levers again, but none of them show any indication of what order to hit them in.

“Come on,” you say as you start pulling random levers. The fourth one reacts for a moment, but quickly dies when you pull the next one. “I don’t have time for this.” 

“No motherfucker,” you hear behind you. “You don’t.” 

Spinning, you find Gamzee uncurling from the staircase. He steps out onto a platform and makes it groan with his weight. He looks even taller down here, even though he is slouching as he walks, and you take back what you thought about him not being ripped. Muscle is corded all along his arms, and you can see it even beneath the looseness of the black shirt he wears. You take a few steps back onto the platform behind the machine, circling it like you did with the bro birds.

“So you’re the little mother fucker who’s come to take my Tavbro from me,” Gamzee says almost lazily, his large club in hand. There are so many colors splattered over it, and it makes your stomach churn when you recognize Aradia’s rust color. “Well let me tell you, Dave, I’m not about to let you do that.” The club smashes into one of the poles holding up the front left platform and fractures it. “See, I lost my Tavbro once, and I’m not about to all up and lose him again.” This time the club knocks out two poles, one to the front left platform, and one to the middle left. “Do you hear me, motherfucker?” He grits the last bit out between too long teeth and fear races up your spine so fast you almost sit down. Fuck this is bad, this is so bad. 

“Now, why don’t you make this all easy on yourself and get that little head piece of yours over here,” Gamzee tells you, voice low and dangerous. “It’s hot as fuck down here, and I don’t feel like motherfucking CHASING YOU!” he screams the last bit as he comes around the side of the generator and swings. Something makes your legs receive your brains message and you move, diving out of the way as the club hits the metal, snapping through the supports with ease. You move to the next corner and listen to how the corner platform Gamzee steps on groans. With three supports it’s still holding, but not nearly as well. You looks at the generator and the gears in your head start turning. Maybe you won’t need the lever code after all.

“Come on, Makara,” you call out to him as you walk behind the next cluster of four and Gamzee moves onto the platform where you were almost creamed. “Can’t you see that your Tavbro is in pain? He can’t even sleep for fuck sake, and you keep him locked up in that room all by himself.” You stay still behind the poles and watch a snarl spread over his face.

“Shut your motherfucking mouth,” he growls at you. “He’s just not finished yet. As soon as I get Equius all up and back here then he’ll--”

“He’ll what?” you ask and hold your ground as he gets closer. “Make Tavros into some half-metal man and you two will live out the rest of your lives in eternal bliss?”

Gamzee smiles a little at that. “Yeah, motherfucker, something like that.” The club almost blindsides you, but you manage to duck under it, rolling to the next platform. The space with the generator creeks as the second support goes.

“Yeah fucking right,” you call back as Gamzee turns towards you and steps on the platform with the generator. It groans under his feet. One more, just one more.

“What are you all up and flapping your motherfucking hole about?” Gamzee asks as he gets closer.

“You really think he’s going to want to live happily ever after with you after all the shit you’ve made him live through?” you ask him as you back up. “Think he’s ever going to be able to look you in the eyes and say ‘thank you’ when he needs to be hooked up to a battery to keep his heart pumping and oil to keep his knees bending?” 

Gamzee snarls at you and moves closer. Fear is clawing at the back of your brain, but you just swallow it down and ready yourself to jump.

“Tavros is dead, Gamzee,” you say loud enough for it to be considered loud. “You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to get that.”

The cry Gamzee lets out as the club comes at you makes you freeze for a moment, the fear that surges through you rooting you to the spot. It breaks through the bonds in front of you and sends you flying sideways. For a moment you think you’re dead, but as you start to freefall something tugs you hard to the side, and instead of hitting the wall and sliding into the liquid heat below you, you hit the stairs. 

For a moment Gamzee looks at you a bit bewildered before the creaking starts and the generator starts to tip. “Wah?” he says in confusion before realizing what is happening and scampers onto the bottom center platform. The generator is going down, and the second he realizes it he grabs for it, long fingers gripping one of the lever as his other hand holds tight to a support.

“You motherfucker,” he screams at you while you stand on shaking legs. Your left side aches as you start to limp backward up the stairs. “What did you do!”

“More like what did you do, dude,” you reply back with a pant and wipe sweat out of your eyes. The hate that is rolling off of him is as real as the heat raising around you, though he doesn’t move. Instead Gamzee keeps his hand on the generator. It moves a little and his arm pulls with it, making him slide. You halt. 

“Not going to let you go,” Gamzee says as his head turns back to the generator. “Not going to let you go, not gonna let it motherfucking happen again.” He speaks through gritted teeth. Above him, the generator lines are already snapping. You stand frozen on the stairs.

“Gamzee,” you call out to him as you watch him slip even more. “Just...just let him go.” Purple eyes focus on you and this time you do sit down as fear and sorrow overwhelm you, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“Fuck do you know, Dave,” he grits back. His hand stays tight on the lever, and even from here you can tell it’s not going to stay on.

“Probably more than you know,” you manage before staggering upwards. As you climb the stairs you can hear the metal of the platform groaning and Gamzee swearing. The door to the first floor is missing now, and you walk through it and back into the hall with the day room. As you enter the room, uneven, labored breathing meets your ears. It sounds wet and sticky.

“Gamzee?” Tavros asks as you close the door behind you. Next to you the door pad glows gently and you hit ‘lock’.

“No dude, it’s Dave,” you say tiredly as you shuffle over to him. Everything in you hurts, your clothing is soaked through with sweat, and as soon as Gamzee realizes that the machine he’s trying to hold up is a lost cause, you’re dead. Well, at least you can put Tavros out of his misery before Gamzee puts you out of yours. The generator behind him is no longer crackling with static, instead it just sits humming, a background to the ticking in the room and Tavros’s erratic breathing.

“You ready to take a nap Tavros?” you ask him as you go to his side and look at the chains around his wrists. Sliding the keys out from your pouch you pick the only one you haven’t used, and somehow it fits. The chains fall away when you turn it, and Tavros lets out a sigh. His head turns to look at you, and his eyes are half closed. You can still see pain in his face, but there is so much less now. You go to the other side of his body and undo the other shackle. Outside you hear a roar of anger.

“Y-yeah, I am,” he replies back as he lifts his weak arms up and rubs at the bloody rings around his wrists, and god the smile on his face looks much too sweet for someone so mangled. You look at it for a moment as he lays there, head turned towards you, eyes closed, and hands slowly pulling needles and tubes from his arms, brown dripping from them. There is a bang against the door and his eyes open.

“Tavros!” Gamzee wails behind the door. “I’m not letting that motherfucker take you! Not again, you hear me in there, not again!” The door shudders and you watch stupefied as part of the door dents back. Tavros sits up a little straighter at the sound.

“It’s okay, Gamzee,” he calls back in a voice that is so tired. “I can’t stay like this. I _want_ Dave to shut me off.” He looks at you as he says it and you nod before heading back to the machine. There is only one lever here that you care about. It is large and heavy, made out of dark black metal, and you find that it is probably the coldest thing in this entire place as you rest your hand on it.

There is more pounding at the door as Gamzee bashes in a part of the metal corner. You can see him through the space, club pushing in before he reaches through.

“No,” he says. “No, please, no. I can’t fucking be out here without you, Tavbro. Don’t fucking make me.” To both your surprise and Gamzee’s, Tavros stands. The cords that connect his heart to the machine uncoils on the floor as he moves, his legs wavering and unsteady, but he does it.

“Shhh,” Tavros says quietly as he grabs Gamzee hand. You can see him wince as Gamzee’s fingers close over it.

“I won’t do it, I won’t,” Gamzee is saying, and at this angle you can just barely see the corner of Tavros’s sad smile as he reaches his other hand through the door and cups Gamzee’s face, brown smearing over his cheek. Gamzee shoves his nose into the palm and you have to turn away.

“I’m sorry, Gamzee,” he says softly. “But I was dead the second Vriska put this hole in me.” His words are soothing and you don’t know why but there is wetness on your face as you stare at the machine. Why do you have to do this, be witness to this?

“But I can fix you,” Gamzee is pleading. “I’ll get that motherfucker Equius up here again and he’ll get you all set to rights and--”

Gamzee’s voice cuts off, and you don’t want to look but you can’t help it. Tavros’s hand is over Gamzee’s mouth, the other one pushes Gamzee’s hand away. When he pulls back Gamzee doesn’t grab at him anymore, just watches him, and there are streaks of moisture on his face that mix with the smear of brown over his cheek and lips.

“I’m not a machine, Gamzee,” he says softly. “I don’t have a restart button. This...this isn’t living,” he says as he looks down at his heart. “It’s torture.” He turns back to you, and you can see how much it is hurting him to stand like he is; how the rotting flesh around his hips is tearing.

“I’m ready to go to bed now.” He smiles at you again. 

You can’t stifle the sob as you speak.“Sleep well, Tavros.” You’re not sure if he hears you or not, but he keeps smiling. When you pull down on the lever Gamzee screams. 

Electricity crackles and you jump back as you watch Tavros go stalk still, a grimace of pain over his face, and then he falls. The pounding on the door resumes and you watch as it indents in.

“No!” Gamzee is screaming. “NO!” The equipment in the room is shaking, as if it’s destined to bury the body it had been keeping alive.

You move back from them both and swallow. Looks like it’s your turn to die.

“This way.” 

You whip around at the voice. On a dark and cracked screen, you can just make out a face. With a blink it’s gone.

“Hurry, that door won’t hold him for long.” Is that Aradia?

“Yeah, Dave,” another voice says and your head shifts to look at another blank machine. Behind your reflection you see Tavros. “You’ve got to go.” You watch him tug your shoulder towards the back wall and jolt. When you turn nothing is there. “Go.” Something shoves you and you move, heading towards a coil of wires that is pushed up against the wall. Behind them you can see a door. Electricity sparks around you as you tug and pull, praying you won’t be electrocuted as you tug the lines away and listen to the blows against the door while Gamzee’s screams.

“Hurry,” Aradia hisses, and you can see her face in the glass of one of the doors. Adrenaline is zipping through you, making you work faster despite the ache in your arms.

“He’s almost through,” Tavros adds, and you can see him in the other window pane. Finally you manage to get a hand on the push bar, and with a harsh shove fall through just as the pounding behind you stops and the doors burst open. You don’t turn around, you run. Run straight towards the door with a dull ‘EXIT’ sign above it. There could be anything on the other side. Lava, nakodiles, bird bros, but the wailing and snarls behind you scares you more than any of that. 

You don’t stop when you hit the door, or when the light blinds you. You don’t stop as almost icy air fills your lungs and moisture hits your skin. The only thing that makes you stop is the small set of stairs that you trip on. They send you stumbling into the street where you slam into a parked car.

Heaving, you lay against it, your lungs unable to understand the sudden change from hot to cold so quickly. Above you the sun is going down, turning the fog around you a deep grey. Spinning you look at the entrance doors to the hospital and wait, and wait, and wait until your breathing is almost normal and you are starting to shiver.

“Thanks, Dave.” The words are whispered over your left shoulder while a giggle comes from your right.

“No problem man,” you say to the nothing around you and reach into your pouch. You pull out your shades and set them on your face without letting your eyes leave the door. “No problem.”

\---

_Your eyes dart between the sword and Bro as your stomach tries to crawl its way into your shoes._

_“Y-you mean-” You can’t bring yourself to say it._

_“You’re the one who likes collect dead things, Dave. About time you learned first hand how they end up that way.”_

_You look at the bird. It’s still staring up at you, black feathers slicked with blood._

_“Don’t be a pussy, Dave,” Bro grabs your hand and shoves the sword hilt into it. “It needs your help. You really going to leave it like that.”_

_You want to ask him to do it, but you know he won’t. You want to drop the sword and run, but you know you won’t._

_His sword feels heavy in your seven-year-old hands as you lift it.You raise it up above the crow._

_Gravity does the rest._

_“Now no crying, lil’man,” he says when he takes the sword back from your limp hands. “Death is natural. Don’t cry over what is natural.”_

_All you can think is that what you just wasn't natural. It wasn’t natural at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a visual graph of the fight between Gamzee and Dave, just in case, go here----> http://leticheecopae.tumblr.com/post/79494347968/a-visual-for-the-fight-in-lofaf-chapter-8-just-in


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any mistakes in this one everyone. I tried to catch them all, but a lot busier than I thought I would be, and it makes betaing a lot more difficult. Still, enjoy everyone. I'll be trying to get other chapters out soon as well.

The lake bed squelches as you pull yourself out of the waves and your stomach and lungs burn as you cough and spit up lake water. Everything around you is a gray and green blur in what you think may be twilight, but currently, you are too disoriented to figure it out.

“Karkat?” you attempt to call out, only to instead enter a hacking fit that makes your body ache. Where had your glasses gone? The flashlight? You have no idea, but at least you still managed to keep a hold of your hammer.

Once you’re kneeling in the mud and muck you collapse a little. It’s disgusting, but you really can’t bring yourself to care. You ache too much, and every cut on your body stings from the lake and sewer water seeping into your bandages. Right now you’re not sure you could get clean even if you tried. So you lay halfway in the mud, feet in the water, and shiver. 

“Come on, John,” you tell yourself through hoarse pants. “Laying here isn’t going to do shit. Get up.” Shifting you get your hands under you and push. They sink a good inch into the mud, but you’re able to get yourself up. Stumbling, you hit a tree and hold onto it for a moment. Even squinting you can’t really tell where you are.

Sliding your hammer back into your belt, which has stayed attached thankfully, you look over the bank. There is absolutely no sign of your glasses or the flashlight. Reaching up you touch your ear to see if you can find your glasses attached to the gauze again. The gauze is gone and with it the last hope that you might find your glasses. Squinting, you think you might possibly see a light somewhere out near the mouth of the small spillway you were dumped into, but even if you do, like hell you’re going back into the water for a flashlight. The thing is probably ruined by now. Looks like you’ll have to just keep moving.

The fog around you makes it hard to tell where you are, let alone where you are going, so you stick to the water’s edge and pray that you get lucky. There are paths that end at the water’s edge, you can remember that much about Silent Hill, but you have absolutely no idea what area you came out at. What you find is better than any path, though how you find it kind of sucks.

The muddy bank suddenly dips and you almost tumble down into the water again. Your death grip on a tree is the only thing that keeping you from taking another icy plunge into the alcove. Yet, it is what is in the alcove that makes you almost whoop for joy. It’s a boat, and possibly a nice electric one if the fuzzy outline isn’t lying to you. The fact that it is floating gives you hope. Maybe this is Jake’s boat because there is no sign of a dock, not a real one at least. A few stray planks show that there might have been a makeshift one here once, but not anymore.

The boat is bigger than you thought. Truthfully you had figured Jake would only have a small motorboat or pontoon boat, but this is so much better. Picking your way around the debris field of wood planks, you finally find a place that you can jump to the boat. It rocks hard under your feet, and it almost sends you over the side, but you manage to stay up. On it, you find that maybe it isn’t as big as you thought, though still pretty large. From the fuzzy outline of the white and faded green, you figure it’s probably a bit wider than a car from nose to trunk, with a slightly raised cabin in the center. Taking a step, you tilt a bit with the boat, but it is tucked back far enough into the cove that it isn’t moving too much. Walking around it, you find some sort of control column in the back, raised up high enough that anyone sitting can see over the cabin. Just in front of it are steps leading down inside.

Walking towards the dark area, you find yourself following three steps down into the boat. It’s dark in here and you really wish you had your flashlight. Touching along the walls, you find something that feels like fabric in the fuzzy gloom, and when you pull at the cloth it lets in foggy light. It is just enough to make out some sort of miniature living area.

 

You walk over to what looks like a built-in desk and start opening up drawers. “He’s got to have something of use in here,” you murmur to yourself as your muddy hands paw through the contents. You aren’t disappointed. In one of the drawers you feel a cool cylinder of plastic, and when you pull it out find you are holding a very nice flashlight. Squinting you can just barely make out the word ‘waterproof’ on the side of it.

 

“Hell yes,” you say with a grin and click it on. It flickers, the beam barely casting any light. “Well, shit.” You smack it against your hand a few times, but the beam doesn’t get brighter. It needs new batteries, and soon. You start searching. 

 

You sift back through the drawers you already checked and find random jumbles of old papers and a couple newspaper clippings. In one of the lower drawers, something catches the light, and you snatch the item up. To your surprise, it is a pair of eyeglasses. The frames are old looking, perfectly round, and a bit small. 

 

You slip them on your nose, careful to set them just on top of your hurt ear, and are surprised to find that the world clears up quite a bit. Everything is a still a bit fuzzy, but not nearly as bad as it was without them. They push against the sides of your head, though, just a little too tight, and it rubs against the wound on your hurt ear.

 

“Thank you, Jake,” you murmur as you look over the desk again. The glasses are great, but you still need batteries. You rifle back through the drawers, and sure enough find an old pack in the bottom left drawer along with a few scattered papers. When you lift the batteries up you see a headline underneath them.

 

 _Missing_ is scrawled over the top of the almost ruined paper, and you wonder why the hell Jake would have kept that. Picking it up, you look it over. The paper is so faded and covered in watermarks that you can barely read it in places

 

“Thirt-- year ol- R--- Lalonde wen- mi-sing on Satu----. The Po—ic-e…” The rest of the article is completely destroyed with water damage. Setting it back down, you think for a moment as you stare at the half legible name. Lalonde, why does that name sound familiar, and not just because you read it at the bank. Maybe you had known them when you were kids? A friend of your Dad’s maybe? You shiver. Whoever Lalonde was, you wonder if they ever found her.

 

You pop the old package open and get the last couple of batteries out before unscrewing the flashlight. You end up going out on the deck for better light and soon have all the extra layers of rubber settled and screwed back into place. This thing isn’t kidding. With the amount of extra insulation, you’re pretty sure it could fall to the bottom of the lake and be just fine.

 

As soon as you have it fully working, you shove it into one of the loops on his belt and look at the steering column. It is a slightly raised area at the back of the boat, and you have no idea how you’re going to drive this thing. Undoing the snaps to your pouch you pull out the key and thank god it hadn’t ended up at the bottom of the lake before putting it back. Actually, everything in your pockets seem okay, just wet. Speaking of which…

 

Your hand shoots to one of your pockets, and when you pull your phone out you find that the screen has gone fully pixilated. The picture on the front isn’t even a picture anymore, just a series of oddly shaded blocks. “Oh shit,” you groan as you try to tap at it, attempting to get it to respond at least a little. No luck. The thing is fried. 

 

“Damn it!” you cry out and throw it hard against the boat. The thing hits and immediately shatters before bouncing up and over the side of the boat. Gritting your teeth, you run your hands through your hair, tracking mud and grime through it. You taking a few deep breaths and lean over the top of the cabin. Kicking hard against the wood you bite the bottom of your lip and shove yourself off it and start to pace. 

 

“So much for calling Dave when this was all over,” you grit out. You stop moving, take a few deep breaths, and then heave a deep sigh. Reaching back into the pouch you pull out the gun. You have no idea if it’s going to work, seeing as you’ve heard that guns hate water as much as electronics, but you really don’t know. Your father isn’t one for guns. The closest thing to a weapon he keeps in the house are his cooking knives and shaving cream. God damn it that had hurt when he had mistaken you for an intruder and you got sprayed in the eyes. You’re still pretty sure it’s one of the reasons your prescription got worse that year.

 

You lift the gun up and look it over. It looks simple enough. “Just aim and pull the trigger,” you say and hold your arm out like you have seen in so many movies. Along the riverbank, you see an old board and you stare down the barrel as you cup one hand under the other, holding the gun and squinting one eye. For a moment you feel like some sort of action star. There is a bump above your finger and you push it in and hear a click. Licking your lips you squeeze the trigger. You don’t expect to end up on the ground with a ringing in your ears.

 

“The fuck,” you say as you scramble back up. Your arm hurts from the recoil and you groan a little as you hold it against your chest. Looking down at the gun you can smell the acrid scent of burnt gunpowder. Fuck, that hadn’t been like the movies at all. Glancing upwards you find that the board you were aiming at is untouched, but the tree above it is looking worse for wear.

 

“Damn,” you say shakily as you reach down and pick up the gun. Apparently, there hadn’t been enough water in it to put it out of commission. You slide the little nub from right back to left and get into a firmer stance.You pull the trigger again, but nothing happens. 

 

“Must be the safety,” you murmur as you carefully set the gun back in your belt pouch. Somewhere along the shoreline, you hear the tinkle of a bell.

 

Your head comes up just in time to see something disappear into the woods. “Oh fuck no,” you say and rush over to the steering column and throw yourself into the seat. Quickly you find the key slot and shove the key in it, turn, and feel the engine sputter to life. You have no idea what you are doing, but you grab some sort of lever and push it to the symbol R. You barely move. Panic grows in your chest as you watch more dark shapes start to well up and out of the forest. You hear something out there howl.

 

“Come on, move!” you yell at the boat as your eyes rake over the controls. You jump when you hear a gun go off, and it isn’t far away. Jake?

 

“Jake!?” you yell and are answered with another gunshot. Shit, he’s out there, and he’s being attacked. Giggles are barely audible from out in the woods. “Jake, this way!” you yell. The boat is still gently moving out of the cove, but it’s far enough away that the imps apparently don’t want to chance jumping to it. At least, not until you jerk to a stop. 

 

_The hell?_

 

Scrambling around the side of the boat you see an old rope tied to the boat. You launch yourself at it and clumsily untie the knot as Imps start to come out of the woods.

 

“John, my boy, is that you?” 

 

A gunshot goes off and the head of an imp goes flying. Jake appears behind it, running through the trees. You toss the rope away into the water and the boat starts to move back.

 

“Come on,” you call and reach over the side. The boat is starting to rock a little as it makes its way out of the cove and Jake has a good couple of yards to jump. He doesn’t even pause. Instead, he shoots a hole in the torso of another imp as he runs towards you and jumps. You manage to catch his arm just as he hits the side of the boat, one leg on, one off. You hear a nasty sound, and Jake’s face twists in pain as you pull him up on deck and his shotgun goes overboard. One of his legs is soaked up to mid shin in water.

 

“Pull the throttle,” he grits out between his teeth.

 

“T-the what?” you ask as you tug him towards the steering column.

 

“The throttle, boy!” he bellows and points to the control panel. You lunge for it, pull a lever, and you both shoot back out into the lake. “Don’t roll her you bloody idiot,” he cries out as you both slide over the deck, your hand gripping the throttle and the chair. “Let up on the gas!” You do as you are told and in a moment you are able to pull yourself into the chair.

 

“Take her out of reverse and point her north,” Jake says as he drags himself back towards the small cabin. You do as he says, assuming that North is just away from the shore. Your eyes flick between the wheel, levers, and the large gathering of imps on shore. Some of them look like they are staring at the water, while others are attempting to throw things at you. Thankfully they don’t seem to have very good aim.

 

“Holy shit,” you say as one of the white wolf things from earlier comes shooting out of the woods, impossibly large jaws closing around an imp. You stare for only a moment as the wolf tears into the thing, and the imps around it come to the others aid. You don’t stick around to watch them disembowel the wolf, instead you manage to turn the boat around and start to move. 

 

The boat waivers under your hands at first, but soon you get the hang of the throttle you’re able to propel you and Jake out towards the center of the lake. It’s a bit hard to see over the top of the small cabin in front of you, but you get used to it. 

 

“How are you doing?” you call to him as he props himself against the small cabin.

 

“Think I popped my hip out of place,” he calls back.

 

“You going to be okay?”

 

“Just fine,” he grits, and when you look over at him you see him set his face in a hard line as he grabs his thigh and turns. Even over the roar of the engine, you can hear the slick pop of the joint going back into its socket. It makes your stomach churn as you turn back to the lake. You can’t see more than a few yards ahead of you as you shoot out over the water, and you quickly find that if you don’t slow down you’re probably going to smack into something. Like the other bank, or the island. There is an island out here somewhere, isn’t there? Letting up on the throttle, you let the boat sit in the water and shut it off. An eerie silence fills the gray space.

 

“What are you doing?” Jake pants. You extend a hand and help him up.

 

“I can’t see shit,” you reply. “Come on, let’s get you inside so you can lay down. You shouldn’t be on your leg after that.” You can already see where the side of his hip is starting to swell under his pants.

 

“Don’ have that luxury,” he replies as he stands fully and stretches. There is another pop and he winces. He looks around the deck and you are startled by the way he hits the side of the cabin. 

 

“Damn it, I lost my gun.” He moves to go into the cabin, leaning heavily on the walls as he goes.

 

“Yeah, it went overboard,” you reply as you follow him. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” In the room Jake moves away from the desk you had been at and instead goes to a bench seat against the wall. He flips it up and underneath the padding is a small arsenal of weapons.

 

“Oh, I’ll be finer than a fiddle when we reach the shore,” he says and looks at you with a grin. At least, it should be a grin, it looks just a bit too crazed right now to be called that. He turns back to the weapons and heaves out a rather large gun. “Let’s see how they like this when we land on shore.” He turns back to you. “What do you…” he pauses and the crazed look on his face subsides a little. “Did you always have those glasses?”

 

You blink. Out of all the questions that’s the one he asks? Not ‘why do you look like a drowned rat?’ or, ‘why are you covered in mud and shit?’ 

 

“I lost mine,” you reply instead. “I found these when I found the boat.” You pull them off your face and do your best not to hiss as they drag over the wound on your ear. They are just tight enough that they don’t really need to sit on your ears to stay on but better safe than sorry. 

 

“They’re a little small, but it’s better than being blind.” 

 

You turn them in your hand a moment before slipping them back on. When you look up, you find Jake looking at you with an almost blank expression and his hands are tight on his gun. Your mouth goes just a little dry. Why is he looking at you like that? They’re just glasses.

 

“I-is it okay th-” You don’t get to finish your question as the boat jolts and you both scramble to keep your footing. Jake almost topples into the box of guns. 

 

“The fuck was that?!” you ask in a loud whisper. Jake limps past you in response.

 

“Get this thing in gear,” he tells you as he stumbles up the three steps to the deck.

 

“Wha-”

 

“Just fuckin do it!” he yells at you, flecks of spittle flying from between his lips. You are not about to fight with a crazed man holding a gun, so you rush for the controls. Another thud against the side of the boat makes you stumble before you make it to the seat. Throwing yourself onto the cracked plastic of the chair, you turn the key and hear a sound you really don’t like. It’s like gears whirling and not quite catching. 

 

“What’s the holdup?” Jake snarls as he limps around the boat, the thudding coming more and more.

 

“I-I don’t know!” Everything about your voice screams panic as your hand turns the key and you push at the throttle. Again the whining sound.

 

“There’s something in the damn rutters,” Jake snaps as he passes you. “You should have never turned them off.”

 

“Well excuse me for wanting to keep us from not hitting anything,” you shout back. God, you're so fucking terrified. What is making that noise? 

 

“Oh god.” Before you can even begin to ask what is happening, there is the cock of a gun, and then a boom like you have never heard before. It makes your ears ring, and god damn it this guy is going to make you go deaf. Under the ringing you just barely hear, “DRIVE!”

 

You turn the key, hear the engine sputter, feel the boat jerk forwards, or at least it tries. “The fuck?” Looking over your shoulder you find your brain fighting to figure out what is happening. There is a tentacle on the boat, a fucking tentacle. The color of it is a putrid looking green, with streaks of dark black under the skin and it’s slim. It doesn’t look like anything you’ve ever seen before, with a diamond-like shape at the tip. “Is that an octopus!?” It’s the dumbest thing to say, but it’s the only thing you can think of. In a moment it is gone in a spray of dark purple blood.

 

“Squid,” Jake replies, and you can barely hear him. You couldn’t have possibly heard that right. “Now GO!” he roars as another thing starts to slither out of the water, and you hit the throttle again. This time you two shoot away. Around you, there is an odd sound, like a high whine as you cut through the water. A tentacle shoots from the water, thicker and larger than the other, and you swerve the boat. Jake stumbles to the side, and you watch in horror as two tentacles, these ones a deep orange, come over the side to grab him. Whatever they are from is blown off the side of the boat.

 

“Keep going!” Jake screams at you as he ducks into the cabin. You quickly look away from the doorway and swerve again as something launches out of the water and flies onto the boat. The shape of it tells you quite quickly that it isn’t an octopus. It hits the boat rail, suckers latching onto wood, and you stare at it. The eyes on the thing are softball sized pits of ink on a body that is almost twice as long as you. The patterns on his body look like black and white gaping grins. Transfixed, you watch a limb come towards you. A second later that limb is gone and your ears are ringing again.

 

Jake is back on the deck and he’s got more fire power. Gun belts are half hazardly thrown over him as he shoots the squid off the deck before making his way to the front of the boat. “Left!” is screamed over his shoulder, and you turn without thinking. Another squid shoots out of the water, but it misses the boat. “Left!” You go left. “Right!” You go right. Jake calls out directions and shoots as you steer. You’re unable to tell what is coming, but you know that if you don’t do exactly as he says then you are both dead. 

 

“Glub.” The sound comes from somewhere behind you, and you turn your head just enough to see a salamander climbing over the side of the boat.

 

“JAKE!” You scream as it comes towards you. You can’t get out your hammer like this and you can’t leave the controls. 

 

The salamander barely gets its mouth open before a bullet takes out its brain.

 

“Right, lad, right!” You do as he says as you watch him hobble around the boat, now having to not only direct you but also get rid of the squids and salamanders.

 

Thankfully, they can’t do much but try and crawl up the side of the boat, sticky feet clinging on to the sides as Jake put holes in their heads. Red and purple is splattering everywhere, and the fog around you is whipped about as you fly through it. Not all the wind is from your speed.

 

“LAND!” For a moment you think he says left and turn hard. It isn’t until you see the sand and rocks that you realize what he had said, and by then you’re fucked no matter what you do. With the angle you are at, the boat hits on its side, and throws you. You are launched from the boat, and head straight for the sand. 

 

Nothing goes through your mind as you head for the expanse of gray and tan. The only thing you can feel is fear, loss, and something almost like release. Then the wind whips up, and you find yourself being blown almost upwards. It softens your landing, but not enough that it doesn’t send shocks of electric pain up through your arms and knees. Yet you manage to roll with it, some part of you remembering the things that Dave had taught you about taking a high fall, and manage to not break anything. At least, you don’t feel anything breaks, currently you’re too hopped up on adrenaline to really tell.

 

You lay in the sand for just a few dazed seconds before you sit up and find that the squid things are trying to crawl up onto land and that Jake is already hobbling towards what looks like a wall. He turns around and shoots at one of the squids and a black eye explodes into a bunch of jellied slop. 

 

“Jake!” you call out to him and he looks at you. Jake turns and hobbles away into the fog as the squids try and pull themselves from the water and salamanders start to crawl out. “Jake you bastard!” you scream at his retreating shadow. “JAKE!” 

 

You don’t get to think on his betrayal long. The salamanders are coming and you need to move. Pushing yourself up onto shaking limbs you hobble away and pray that you can outrun the little bastards with how much pain you’re in. Straightening your glasses, you search for an escape route, but really you just feel fucked. Shit, you’re by the cliffs. At least, that was what people called them when you had lived here. Really they are more like rocky bluffs, but they might as well be cliffs as they loom above you in the fog.

 

Stumbling on weakened knees, you search for a way up. The slap of sticky feet behind you is getting closer and you need to move faster. Chancing a glance over your shoulder, you see at least a dozen of the amphibious bastards, and is the lake getting...darker? You don’t have time to study it and find out. Loping along the side of the bluffs you look for an easier way upwards, and by sure luck see what looks like a railing. Grabbing it, you use it to pull yourself up a staircase that looks like it has been literally chewed on it’s in such shambles. You move as quickly as you can. 

 

“Glub.” 

 

It’s the only warning before you jerk forwards up the stairs to dodge the pop of acid behind you. The railing keeps you up, the cold metal biting into your fingers, but that doesn’t matter much. Not when a very large salamander is climbing up behind you. 

 

“Glub.” This one is on your other side, and you are lucky to be out of the acid range as you tug yourself forwards again. You can see something at the top of the stairs. It is a stone wall with a wrought iron gate bent open. Behind you are more glubs as you limp to it. The wind is whipping around you now, and the glasses on your face do almost nothing with the amount fog being spun about you. Fighting the gusts, you head through the gate and try and push it shut behind you. The thing doesn’t budge so you keep going.

 

An old path of some sort leads you through an unkempt lawn. There is a hulking building to the side of you and you scan it for any sort of entrance. All you can see are windows and fences. It isn’t until the path opens into a drive that you see a way in. Two large doors stand sentry to the building and you make your way to them, listening to glubs and popping bubbles behind you.

 

“Don’t be locked,” you pant as you stumble up a couple of stairs and grab one heavy door. With a groan from both you and the hinges, you pull it open just enough to get inside, and then quickly pull it shut with aching arms. The large turn lock grates as you move the bolt, but it goes in, and that is all that matters. 

 

Outside you can hear the salamanders climbing over the door, sticky toes slapping at the metal and wood as they glub. You really hope they can’t burn through it, and you aren’t about to stick around to find out. Turning around you find yourself in a relatively open area with a large hallway. The place looks like it had been nice before everyone left. The counter to your left and the couches and table to your right are all dusty, and while it doesn’t look like any windows broke during the storms, you can still smell water and mildew in the air.

 

A rattle at the door jolts you into moving again. You move away from the door and deeper into wherever the fuck you are. Pulling the light from your hip, you click it and are grateful that it wasn’t kidding. The thing is definitely waterproof and strong as shit from the way you fell on it. The hall goes into a large room that splits into three ways. Two large doors are on either side and in front of you is a short hall with a few doors.

 

“Female ward,” you read on the right and find the words ‘Male Ward’ on the left. Are you in some sort of hospital? 

 

Shivering, you walk towards the doors in the middle of the large room. As soon as you reach them the words ‘Cloakroom’, ‘Patient Belongings’ and ‘Dr. F. Fly’ catch your eye. It looks like you are in a hospital. 

 

You turn away from the doctor’s office and look at the other two doors. Maybe you can find some new clothes in one of these rooms? Or maybe some scrubs somewhere else? The clothing you are in right now is way to fucking cold. Grabbing the door to the cloakroom, you twist the handle and pull it open. Inside you find a sparse array of jackets. There is a white women's coat, a doctor's coat, and a couple of basic jackets.

 

“Thank god.” You grab one of the two jackets, a windbreaker, and it’s all bright blues and white. The other one is red and heavy, and you momentarily think that Dave would like that one. You swallow hard at the thought. Dave...is he okay? Jake had left him alone in that house by himself and with all this weird shit...

 

“He’ll be fine,” you assure yourself out loud as you close the door and go to the middle door. You refuse the think about Dave. Pushing the door open you shine your light inside. There are a series of boxes, and you quickly start looking. You find a box with the name ‘Hussie, Andrew’ on it, and inside find a t-shirt with some sort of sword on it and some faded jeans. You aren’t sure about the underwear, but from what you can tell everything is clean, and fuck if you’re going to leave your boxers on. The mud has soaked into even those.

 

“Thank you, Hussie,” you murmur on your way out. Something trips you and you almost go down. You whirl with your heart in your throat, expecting an Imp to be crawling out from under the shelves, but instead, all you find is a box with some of the items in it spilling out. ‘Lalonde, Roxy’ is printed over it, and you cock your head to the side. That name again, god, where else had you seen it? There was the boat, but where else?

 

You think hard for a moment before it comes back. The bank, in the bank, you had read something about a Roxy Lalonde. Something about her being in a, oh god what had it been? A hospital right or a...

 

“Fuck.” The word rings heavy as your memories slip into place. Roxy had been in a Sanitarium. You are in Cedar Grove Sanitarium. How in the hell had you forgotten about this place? It had scared you shitless whenever you had been out on the lake with your dad and Nana had always warned you never to come to this side of town or the ‘crazies’ would get you. 

 

Setting the clothes on a shelf, you kneel down to look through the items on the floor. The clothing is gone, if there had been any, but a few things remain. An old wallet, some random papers, and a picture. Picking it up you find yourself looking at a young woman with a little girl in her lap. They are both blonde, and both in black, white, and pink. Who you assume to be Roxy is laughing with a drink in her hand while the little girl sits with the eeriest smile on her lips. You know that smile, somehow. Turning it over you find the words ‘Roxy and Rose’ scrawled over the back in messy swirls.

 

“Rose?” you mutter out loud. 

 

_The tail goes out._

 

You drop the picture and fall back on your ass. Rose Lalonde, the little blonde girl who lived out in the woods with her mother. She would come over and play sometimes, and even though she was younger, she was so much smarter. Before you had left Silent Hill she had already been writing full sentences while you could still barely get your name down without making the J backward.

 

“The tail goes out,” she had told you one day when she had come over to play. You had made it go in just to spite her a little before she had written her full name beautifully on the chalkboard and smirked at you. You never played on the chalkboard with her again.

 

You stare down at the picture on the floor and stare at her. How had you forgotten her? You may have only had a few memories of her, but your families had been close, hadn’t they?

 

“Shit, Rose,” you say and swallow around a lump in your throat. Picking up her picture you look it over again. “It wasn’t Roxy the newspaper had been talking about was it?” Rose smiles back at you. “It was you.” No wonder Roxy had gone insane, she’d lost Rose.

Putting the picture back down, you stand up and sniffle, and it’s hard to tell if it’s because you’re freezing or because you might have just learned that one of your first friends is dead and buried somewhere. 

 

Grabbing the clothes, you leave the picture behind and head into the doctor’s office. There is a window in here, and you shut off the flashlight while you change. The room is dim, but you don’t dare pull back the curtains or use the light. You don’t want to chance a salamander or something seeing the beam. Instead, you change in the dark, wiping as much muck off yourself as you can with the few nonmuddy places on your clothes. The shirt fits fine, but the jeans feel a little long, and the pockets won’t hold much. Oh well, at least your warm and a hell of a lot more dry, and you still have the tool belt to carry things. You start to empty out your old pants pockets and the toolbelt.

 

“Well fuck,” you say as you pull out the lump of wet paper that was once your map. It’s useless now, and you toss it into an old waste paper basket. It lands with a wet thud as you pull out other items. The water bottle and cereal bars are fine, and you quickly eat one and down the bottle before checking the rest of your pockets and the tool belt pouch. What few leftover bandages you had are soaked with mud and grime, and the pipe you pull out of another is snapped in half. 

 

The bowl of it is heavy in your hand as you look down at it. It’s worthless, you should throw it away. Instead, you stick it on the desk and get the belt off the old pants and onto your new ones. Emptying the pouch, you look at what you have. One protein bar, a broken pipe, a gun, six extra bullets, your hammer, a wrench, and the flash light.

 

You quickly get the belt on and put everything into the pouch, zipping it up as your hammer sits on your hip.

 

Quietly you leave the room, your soaked clothes, and Jake’s jacket. The new windbreaker is soft on the inside and warms up your arms as you flick on the light and walk into the main room again. Down the hall, you listen for the glubs, but you don’t hear anything. Maybe they left?

 

“Are you lost, dearie?” 

 

You jump almost a foot in the air and swing your light around, looking for the owner of the voice.

 

“W-who’s there?”

 

“This is a dangerous place to roam around,” the female voice continues, and you spin. It sounds familiar, elderly, and falsely sweet. “This is a bad side of town.”

 

Your light lands on someone down the hall, near the front door. The glasses you wear makes the woman very fuzzy, but you can at least tell that they are wearing something white and blue. Where had they come from? 

 

“Who are you?” 

 

She doesn’t answer, instead, she moves forwards. There is no sound from her and her movement puts you on edge. It takes you a moment to realize you should be able to hear her footsteps.

 

“I did warn you,” she says, whoever she is, and it rings through the room. What the hell is that thing on her head? Why aren’t her shoes making any noise? The closer she gets, the more you back up, and it keeps her just fuzzy enough that you can’t answer these questions.

 

“Warn me about what?” you call back. A gust of wind blasts you hard in the face and you blink. There is nothing at the end of the hallway. Nothing at all. You freeze.

 

“That the crazies would get you.”

 

You turn just in time to see a large, white-gloved hand come up to cuff you hard in the temple. It sends you sprawling and your vision rolls as you try and cling to consciousness. It doesn’t work. 

 

Something shifts above you and in a world made of stripes of white and gray, all you can see is a sharp white smile that melts into black.

 

\-----------

 

_The barge rocks under your feet and you feel like you’re going to puke. Daddy has gone to get you something to throw up in as you stand next to the side railing with Nana. She refuses to hold you with how sick you feel._

_You watch the scenery go past and the closer you get to the shore the bigger the building you’ve been staring at gets._

_“Nana, what’s that?” you ask and hope that you don’t puke._

_“That’s where the crazy people live,” she tells you. You look up at her and squint in the sun. Her glasses sit low on her nose, and her whitening hair sits fluffy on her head. There isn’t much black left in her curls. “Never go over there.”_

_“Why?” you ask._

_She turns to look down at you, and you stare at the tip of her nose, wondering how her glasses stay on._

_“Because, John,” she says. “If you do, the crazies will get you, and then who would read you bedtime stories?”_

_Her words sink into your stomach and you thrust your head between the bars of the railing. Your glasses do not stay on your nose as you puke over the side. Instead, they drift down into the dark water. ___


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to Vollerei for helping me edit again.

The temperature is dropping rapidly, and your breath is starting to mix with the fog, but you can’t yet bring yourself to move from your perch on the front of the car. You knew it was going to get cold out here at night, you just didn’t realize how cold. Not that you’re complaining. After the hellhole of heat and ticking the fog filled world is almost like a paradise. Only, this paradise is getting pretty dark and you don’t want to be stuck out here in the dark. There are Cal’s out here, and while something tells you Gamzee won’t be coming through the door, there is still a growing fear that whatever keeps your two worlds apart won’t be as strong in the dark.

 

You pull out your map and stare at it, wondering where the hell you’re going to go next. John is probably already across the lake by now, or at least you hope he is. God, you hope he’s safe on the other side with his Dad. You want to be over there, too. Maybe there is less crazy shit on the other side.

 

Then again, you doubt that highly. Whatever is wrong with this place, it’s in its bones.

 

“The crazy is in the concrete,” you murmur as you look at the map one last time. There’s a boat launch just a little ways from you. You’ll try for that. Going around the lake would take too damn long at this point.

 

Standing up, you stretch and listen hard into the dark. So far, the only thing moving is the wind. The rest is just nothing. 

 

“The crazy’s in the concrete, and there’s murder in the mud,” you start softly as you put the map away, and start to walk down the street. “The bricks are made of bone meal, and the lake is filled with blood.” Your feet fall into a beat as you move slowly through the fog, hands on your belt. “The children are all screaming, but Robbie’s not to blame.” Something moves off to the side and your hand goes to the hilt of your sword. Two pinpricks flash in the dying light. “There is a hell on earth.” It charges. “Silent Hill’s the damn things name.” The words steady you as your sword comes out. It comes up in a single arch from your scarab, slicing deep into the thing that comes from the fog. You turn with the swing, allowing the thing to go past you before it collapses into a furry lump. For a moment you think it’s one of those weird wolves you saw earlier, but that’s not quite right. First off, the thing isn’t white. It’s an odd charcoal color, and it’s much smaller. It’s closer to the size of a german shepherd, not nearly as large as the wolves from earlier, and it has sleeker fur and smaller ears.

 

Slowly, you circle around it, thrusting your sword hard at the base of the neck. You double tap that fucker, and you’re glad you did. The stab makes it let out a breath of air that lets you know it wasn’t quite dead.

 

“The hell are you?” You flip the thing so you can see the face and for a moment you think you may be seeing double. It looks like some sort of large wild cat, but there are two mouths. One is opened in a silent cry while the other is clenched just beneath it in a scowl of pain. The things eyes are wide, glassy, and a green the color of a child's highlighter. When you turn just right, they glint in the small amount of light still coming through the fog. 

 

Standing back up, you decide you don’t really give a flying fuck as to what the cat thing is. All you want is to be off the damn street. There is a glimmer through the fog and you turn towards it, but it’s quickly gone. Shit.

 

“Yeah, no,” you say before you turn and start to jog away from the glowing eyes of death. There is some sort of building just off to the side, and you go for it. Behind you, there is the soft padding paws and a slight almost chirping sound. You’ve never heard a sound like that and you don’t care to hear it much longer. There is a rickety set of stairs and a broken sign above a door. You don’t try to read it, not when you hear the creak of metal behind you. Grabbing the door handle, you turn and push. The door swings in on warped hinges and a squeal. It only lets you in part of the way, and you have to squeeze to get through. It takes you a moment to slide all the way through, and when you do, you see a group of the things slowly stalking up the stairs towards you. On the closest one, you can just make out the two mouths, one of them opening to make the clicking sound, while the other has a tongue dart out to lick at its odd maw.

 

“Sorry Tom, Jerry’s not in the mood,” you tell it before you shut the door. A bang follows, and you jump a little, though the scratching is haphazard, and lasts only a few moments. The thing doesn’t give a shit about you. Out of sight, out of mind. Stepping away from the door you turn, and your heart hits the roof of your mouth when you do.

 

The barrel of the gun waivers back and forth from one of your eyes to the other as Roxy stands on unsteady legs. She has her hip jammed against a table next to her, and it is possibly the only thing currently keeping her up. Thanks to the dim lights in the room you can see her pretty well, and a quick look at her tells you that she’s in a lot of pain. Her leg looks like hell, black creeping up the skin and disappearing behind the torn leggings. You can see more cuts on her arms, and a nasty one on her left cheek. 

 

“Whoa, Roxy,” you say as soothingly as you can, hands coming up slowly as her eyes seem to flick in and out of focus. “It’s me, it’s Dave,” you tell her as she keeps the gun waving. 

 

“Davey?” she asks, and her voice is thick. The gun drops a little, and she seems to really focus. “Davey.” Her voice breaks as she tosses the gun onto the table and collapses forwards onto you. You manage to catch her, but it hurts like a bitch on your shoulder as she leans all her weight on you. There is nothing you can do, though, not when she’s crying into your shoulder as she holds you tight.

 

“You’re okay, thank god, you’re okay.” Her nails dig into your back while she sobs out the words, and god she reeks; like perfume mixed with sewage. You aren’t sure where that smell is from, but you have a haunting suspicion it’s parts of her turning putrid. Over her shoulder, you can see a bunch of bottles and bandages strewn about in the dim light from above. It’s a miracle this place even has power. 

 

“Hey, hey I’m fine,” you tell her as you try and start walking her backward. “Though you, not so much. Come on, let’s use some of the goodies you’ve got set up.” 

 

She gives a sniffling nod as she uses you as a crutch and you walk her back towards the table. Roxy continues to sniff as you sit her down. She straightens out her leg and lets out a sound of pain. There are a few rolls of bandages on the table, a half-empty bottle of peroxide, and a thing of vodka. When you take your shades off you can see that there is the slightest hint of lipstick on the edge of the bottle’s neck.

 

You look her leg over and whistle, something Bro would do to you sometimes to lighten the mood if a cut was bad. “Damn, that looks like it hurts,” you tell her as you look through her leggings at the puffy flesh. It is straining against the few strands of nylon still crisscrossing over the skin. “Mind if I…” you motion to her leg and tug a bit at the fabric. 

 

“Sure,” she murmurs. “Those’re ruined anyways.”

 

“Eh, I don’t know,” you reply as you gently try and tear them away. “I heard the grunge look was coming back in style. You may just be ahead of the curve, hip mom like you.”

 

Roxy gives a little snort. “Sweet talker,” she says. “If you were ten years older, I’d take ya home.” Her voice sounds a bit steadier like she’s sobered up. Probably hasn’t had a choice, especially with the amount of pain she’s in. The more of the legging you tear away, the more small lines of black you see coursing up her leg.

 

“Who knows, cougar like you, under different circumstances, I may have been tempted.” You smirk up at her and she gives you the smallest smile back. In reality, you know you wouldn’t, not unless you were completely smashed. Too bad you’ve never been much of a drinker, but she doesn’t need to know that. Right now she needs to calm down.

 

“Speakin’ of cougars,” she says as she reaches for the vodka bottle. “How many of those hellcats are still out there?” 

 

“Not sure,” you reply as you reach for the peroxide.

 

Roxy takes a swig of vodka and immediately winces. You are blink at the black in her leg. Had that just gone up her vein? 

 

“Damn it,” she adds as she sets it down and glares. “Lil’ bitch.”

 

“Huh?” you ask as you go to pour the peroxide. 

 

“Can’t drink anymore,” she replies as she holds the bottle. “That...thing out there made sure a’ that.” Roxy looks longing at the bottle. “Helps with the pain at least.” 

 

You’re not really sure what she’s talking about but you decide it’s probably best to not try and understand. Whatever Roxy is on, it’s making it hard for you to understand her. “Well, maybe it’s best you don’t drink,” you reply as you start to pour peroxide. Her jaw tightens and she hits the bottle down with a harsh thunk on the table. “Shit’s poison anyways.”

 

The bottle slides off the table and comes down towards your head. You manage to have it only come down on your shoulder as you try and dodge out of the way. Roxy is still shaky and you manage to get yourself to go limp halfway down, so it makes it less painful than it could have been.

 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” you ask as you roll away, your sword and scarab thunking against the floor.

 

“What have I told you, Rosie,” Roxy snarls back. “It’s Mama’s medicine, not poison. It helps Mama.” 

 

Well, that was probably more than you needed to know about Roxy and Rose’s mother-daughter relationship. 

 

“Whoa there, Roxy,” you say as you shakily start to get up. Your shoulder throbs as she sits with the bottle still out and ready to swing again. Roxy is breathing heavily through gritted teeth, eyes unfocused again, and it makes you wary. At least she isn’t holding her gun. “I’m helping you, remember? Trying to clean you up.” You put your hands up again. Part of you is telling you to just leave the crazy lady here and get on your way, but Bro would have whooped your ass for that. Besides, if it comes down to it, you know you can take her. That is if she doesn’t get to her gun first. Thank god it's on the other table.

 

Roxy blinks a bit and lowers the bottle. “O-oh God, Dave, I’m-” her voice breaks again and she drops the vodka. The thick glass makes a thud before it rolls away. A stream of vodka follows it. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “Baby I’m so sorry.”

 

Responding doesn’t seem to be the best idea. Instead, you just move forward slowly, pick up the peroxide, and start cleaning her leg again. She barely reacts as you watch the peroxide bubble up inside her wound. Black and red flows out of the gash when you wipe away the half hazard scab growing over the cut. She hisses a little when you push against either side of the wound, and more fluids dribble down her leg. The cut is already filling with puss.

 

“Damn,” you murmur as you look down at the depleted bottle of peroxide. You’re going to need more than this. 

 

“There’s Everclear behind the bar,” she says, and you jump. “I couldn’t carry it.”

 

“You sure you want that?” you ask as you stand. Bro had used that in a pinch a few times, and it had burned worse than anything you had ever felt. You had taken a sip of it as a kid as well and it had been hell going down.

 

She snorts in amusement, and the smile looks odd with the makeup running down her cheeks. “Do I really have a choice?” she asks. 

 

You nod in understanding and head over to the bar. It isn’t until you start walking through the place that you really look at it. There are tables set up, a small stage, a pole, and the bar. Posters of half naked women litter the walls and there are sound system speakers scattered around. Looks like you’ve landed yourself in a strip club.

 

“Well shit,” you say with a chuckle. “I should have brought someones.” 

 

Roxy laughs a little behind ya. “Sorry honey, I’m on break.” 

 

Behind the bar you find a few different types of booze, the Everclear included. It’s a huge bottle, about the size of your head, and you grab it out from under the bar. Next to it, you find a mini fridge. The second you open it a lovely stench begins to emit through the room, and you quickly grab the three water bottles sitting inside. Well, it is more accurate to say you knock the bottles out of the fridge with a flailing hand before shutting the door and try not to gag. Not as bad as the other fridge you opened, though the second you think about that your stomach churns. Maybe you’ll just stay away from refrigerators.

 

“Here,” you tell her as you come over. “Maybe that'll agree with you a bit more.” You set the waters next to Roxy before going back down on your knees to look at her leg. There is still a bunch of black, but it looks better. Kinda. 

 

“Ready for this?” you ask as you unscrew the Everclear. The smell of alcohol hits you hard, and you feel yourself gag a bit. You doubt there is anything on this planet that could survive being doused in the stuff. It could make one hell of a Molotov. 

 

“No,” she replies as she undoes the water bottle top with the crack of plastic. “But I want to keep the leg doc.”

 

You smirk a little as she takes a swig of water and wait to start pouring until she’s done drinking. Roxy almost finishes half the bottle before you start to pour. This time around she lets out a cry and you don’t blame her. It looks like it helps, though, pouring it on her leg makes the black run more than you could get it to with the peroxide, though it also makes her skin look a little ashy and white. That’s not good. It means the cut has gone deep.

 

“Fuuuuck,” she groans when you stop.

 

“Almost done,” you tell her as you grab up some of the gauze pads and bandages. There are still spiderwebs of black in her leg, but you don’t know how to get that out. This is the best you’ve got. She hisses a little more as you wrap it, and more tears come, but that’s it. 

 

“Ready for your arms?” you ask as you stand up. The scratches aren’t as bad, but she needs to clean them out at least. 

 

“Just go for it,” she sighs and sticks them out to the sides. You nod and start pouring. She talks while you work. “Well, least I’ll just smell like a bar now.” She tries to keep it joking, but there is pain in her words.

 

“Doubt those cats will want to take a bite out of you now,” you tell her. “Not unless they want to get a little fucked up.” 

 

Roxy lets out a chuckle. “I’d take ‘em out before they could even get their teeth on me.” 

 

“I don’t doubt it,” you reply, though you don’t know if that’s true. The scratches on her arms don’t look like teeth marks, but who knows with those things. 

 

“Still,” she replies. “A little help would be nice.” 

 

“With what?” you ask. “Head back,” you add as she goes to talk. 

 

“Getting across the lake,” she replies. You cup your hand under her cheek to keep the booze from running into her mouth or right onto her lap. She hisses as you pour it over her cheek before continuing. “I need to get to my boat and I don’t think I can make it alone with my leg as fucked up as it is.” 

 

You pick up a band aid and gauze with a shaky hand as you feel adrenaline shoot through you. 

 

“You have a boat?” Damn, it’s a good thing you didn’t leave. Gently, you pat away the alcohol with the gauze and put a bandage on her cheek, though it doesn’t do much more than cover the worst of it.

 

“Yep, down at the boat launch,” she replies. “How’d you think I got down here?” she asks with a chuckle. 

 

“Thought you might have driven,” you reply. 

 

She laughs. “Kid, there are no roads that go through anymore, not after that shit storm went through.” 

 

“Guess I should have known that,” you reply and crack open your own thing of water. “The roads around here look like shit.” 

 

“Yeah, well, now you know,” she says as she sits up and drinks down the rest of the water in front of her. She wipes away the booze left on her arms with the leggings you tore away. “Pack this shit up would ya?” Roxy asks as she stands on unsteady feet.

 

“Where do you want me to put it?” you ask as you pick up the bandages and gauze left over. 

 

“You keep it,” she says as she stands on shaking legs. “I’ve got more in my bag.” Her face scrunches up a bit in pain as she goes towards another table that holds said bag. “And hurry up. I want to get out of here. Those Jaspers out there are smarter than they look.” 

 

“Jaspers?” you ask as you shove stuff in your pockets, including the last water bottle. 

 

“My daughter's cat,” Roxy replies as she picks up her rifle and checks it over. “His name was Jaspers. Gave me more cuts than I care to remember.” She checks the bullet chamber and snaps it close. “Damn thing never liked me.”

 

Somehow you manage to keep yourself from asking what the hell kind of cat she would buy her daughter to remind her of the beasts outside, but you’d rather not do anything to make her think of Rose. That tends to end in you getting punched somewhere. You’d rather not push it and get shot.

 

You drink the last of your water as Roxy finishes going through her motions and it feels good going down your throat. Damn, you were thirstier than you thought. As soon as you finish, you grab the Everclear and pour some over your own few cuts and scrapes on your neck, arms, and some of your legs. Mostly they are bruises, though. You think about taking a swig from the bottle, see if it might make the ache in your chest go away for a bit, but you quickly decide against it.

 

“Ready to go?” you ask her as she starts to hobble towards a door near the bar.

 

“You bet your patootie I am,” she replies and reaches out towards you. “Just help me out here, would ya?” 

 

You don’t say anything as you walk over and let her wrap her hand around your shoulders and take some of her weight as you two push through the door. She has her gun pushed against her hip, aimed and ready to go as the two of you make your way into the hall. There are a few other doors, but she doesn’t pay them any mind, so you don’t either. You want down to that boat as soon as possible, and with Roxy on your side, you doubt you could do much exploring anyways.

 

The stairs are kind of a bitch, but you manage, and when you hit the first floor you find the door out. “We’re going to be in a bit of a bottleneck for a while,” she tells you. “And if I have learned anything about these little fuckers, it’s that they are smart. They’ll be waiting out there so be ready. If I don’t hit ‘em, you cut ‘em. Got me?” 

 

“I got ya,” you tell her. 

 

She pulls away from you and you draw your sword. “Let’s go then.” Roxy opens the door. The second the latch unhooks you hear the chittering. Your sword comes up as claws come out of the dark. There is a bang and the thing is bleeding on the floor before you can really react.

 

“Move,” she tells you as she raises her rifle and flicks something on at the end. Light explodes from the tip, illuminating the alleyway and a few more of the creatures. One of them loses its head as soon as the gun is up and your ears ring at the shot. There isn’t time to worry about your hearing as you move forwards and slash through another of the Jaspers that come for you. It loses it’s head from the first mouth up and thunks against the wall next to you.

 

“Come on,” you say as you start to walk forwards, sword up and ready. You can only cut vertically in here, the alley not wide enough for you to do anything horizontal, but you don’t have to do much. Roxy takes out Jasper after Jasper, sending blood and fur flying as the two of you make your way down the alley. Now and again, she calls out ‘reload’ and you cover her as best you can. Thank god the woman is quick with her bullets. You come out between two buildings on the main road, though you can’t be sure where it is in the swirls of fog. 

 

“This way,” she says as she starts to hobble into the darkness, you follow close. She’s got the light, and with your sword, you can’t really hold your flashlight. You hadn’t thought of that. You’d be fucked if you had to try and hold any light right now. It’s slow moving, but the two of you manage to get through. Roxy shoots, you swing, and the Jaspers fall to the ground, leaving a trail of gore and bloody footprints behind you. 

 

“It’s right over there,” she motions with the light before turning and shooting into the dark. You hear a gurgling shriek and know she didn’t miss her mark. A flash of movement on your side warns you just in time to send another to the ground with your blade. In the dark, you can just make out some sort of building that you two keep moving towards. “Go around,” she adds as you move. “There are stairs on the left. Reload.”

 

You dart forwards and take out anything that moves before coming back and slashing at the Jasper that tries to run up behind the two of you. Sweat is dripping down your nose despite the cold air. Roxy’s gun goes off letting you know the reload was a success. 

 

The stairs are tricky. You have to help her down where some are missing and she is trying to shoot as you get her down. Behind you there is the slap of water and when you both face the lake you see the boat. The thing looks old, unkempt, and is covered in rust. At one time, it looks like it could have been a great boat, but now it just looks like crap. You can barely see where a rose used to be painted on the side of it. The wheelhouse sits up in the back of the boat and you both head for it.

 

“Help me up,” Roxy says, and you do your best to give her a boost up into the boat that sits a few feet out of the water. The second her feet touch down she shoots over you. There is a flash of heat above your head and you quickly scuttle over the side of the boat.

 

“Here.” She shoves something into your hands. “Get her running. I’ll cover you.” 

 

You don’t question it. Taking the key, you sheath your sword, rush back into the raised cabin, and ignore the stairs going down. Your light comes out quick and you shine it into the room. There are a few bottles strewn over the dashboard, some of them still holding liquid, though nothing is really in your way. Outside, Roxy’s gun is firing and you know you need to get going.

 

“Ignition, ignition,” you chant before finding it. Shoving the key in you turn and the engine sputters. “Son of a bitch,” you grit out as you do it again, and again. The gun stops. 

 

“Move,” you hear behind you and Roxy shoves you from the chair. You barely manage to stay standing as she sits and turns the key. She does something else as well and the thing blares to life as you hear something hit the deck. Lights turn on in the cabin and you can see some come to life on deck. 

 

“Take care of that, will ya?” she asks as you shove your flashlight back into its place. You can see a Jasper on the deck through the window.

 

“Aye aye, captain,” you respond and take your sword back out. As you get to the deck, a second Jasper jumps aboard. Both of them drop to the deck when the boat jerks under you and you almost go flying. The sudden stop almost sends you into one of the cats.

 

“The rope!” Roxy yells at you. “Cut the rope!” 

 

You eyes dart around.“What rope?” you yell back as the first cat launches itself at you.

 

“Back of the boat!” she yells back. You barely hear her as you swing at the thing going for you. “Fuck it,” she adds as your sword connects. It knocks the Jasper away but with the flat side, not the blade. It is followed by a series of quick shots back behind you and the sound of metal on metal. “Hold on!” is called shortly after.

 

“To what?!” you cry out as the other cat comes for you. You scramble away, grab at the front of the wheelhouse, and hang on. Roxy guns it and she wasn’t kidding about needing to hold on. One of the things goes flying off the boat as it tumbles past the wheelhouse and off the back. The other hits the side but stays on. You just barely keep yourself pressed to the front of the wheelhouse as you zoom off into the dark.

 

The Jasper on deck rights itself around the same time you do and the two of you square off as well as you can. You spread your legs to give yourself a deeper stance while the Jasper crouches low to the ground. The lights on deck let you see the things two mouths bare fangs that are as long as your pinky finger. You never needed a good look at one of these things alive, and god, you don’t want to get an even closer one.

 

“Come on,” you tell it as you hold your sword ready. “Come on.” 

 

The Jasper lets out a growl, crouches, wiggles its backside the way any feline would do, and launches itself. The second the thing jumps the boat turns and you go flying sideways. Everything goes a bit slow as you tumble. The cat goes off to the side, hits the railing, and goes over. You fall back into the wheelhouse. 

 

“Little warning next time!” you call up as you cling to the boat in fear of her turning hard again. 

 

“Sorry Rosie,” she calls back. When you look up into the wheelhouse, you see her grinning with wide eyes. “Mama’s driving.” You watch her take a swig from a bottle and her cheeks turns just a little bit blacker under the bandage. 

 

Anger flares in your chest. Is she seriously drinking? 

 

“Roxy, Roxy put that shit down,” you call up. “Now is not the fucking time.”

 

“It’s always time to party, baby!” she shrieks back in laughter. “Let's go see Robbie!” Roxy points down the lake. You follow her finger and see something glowing dimly in the distance. It goes out every once in awhile like it’s turning a lazy circle in the hazy dark. You realize it’s a lighthouse.

 

The boat speeds up again and you realize that this woman is going to kill you as she pours booze down her throat. She is going to run you aground and kill you. Quickly, you sheathe your sword so you don’t fall on the damn thing and then run around the back of the boat. It’s hard to do with the way the boat keeps tilting, but you do your best to stay upright before trying to go up the stairs. There is a shot and something whizzes past your head.

 

“Ah-ah,” Roxy says as you look up at a now steady gun. Smoke pours from the tip. “Mommy’s busy honey.” Roxy still has a grin on her face and her cheek is blooming black.

 

Fuck that. Fuck even trying to deal with that. You swallow, back up, and instead go down the stairs to your right. The underside of the boat filled with random crap, clothes, and furniture all shoved into the tight space. It looks like is was all really nice once but was turned into nothing but storage. You look for the softest thing possible and find a futon. 

 

“That’ll do,” you say as you go for it, tripping over items that slip and slide around. The futon jerks towards you at one point, and you quickly throw yourself on it. It smells old and dusty, but you don’t really care as you grab the limp mattress and try and pull it down around you so you are covered on all sides.

 

“Fuck,” you grit out when you realize you can’t bend it enough by yourself. “Come on!”

 

The mattress suddenly concaves on you. The top pushes down, the bottom comes up, and you can feel four distinct points of pressure as the boat roars forwards. 

 

“Hold on, Dave,” you hear in one ear and it is bright and cheerful.

 

“Yeah, uh, hold on,” Tavros’s voice adds as you lay in your burrito like state.

 

You don’t have time to panic, you just do as the voices say. The pressures stays on your body, keeping the mattress, and you, in place. 

 

“Come look at the ferris wheel baby!” is barely heard above the din, then everything jerks forwards and your futon shoots towards the front of the boat. The mattress takes the worst of the hit but your head still swims from the full body impact as the futon hits parallel to the wall and the wooden back splinters. There is a grating sound and then you come to a stop.

 

You try and push at the mattress but the pressure on the other side pushes back.

 

“Shh, shh, it’s time to rest,” Aradia tells you, her voice seemingly in her ear. Your body tenses and then relaxes as you feel something comb through your hair. 

 

“Don’t worry. We’ll, um. We’ll keep watch.” There is a squeeze to your hand.

 

“Whatever,” is all your tumble dried mind can think. “Sure.”

 

You fall asleep to the feeling of fingers in your hair and someone holding your hand. Someone is singing and you can’t tell if it’s you. 

 

“The crazy’s in the concrete, and there’s murder in the mud. The bricks are made of bone meal, and the lake is filled with blood. The children are all screaming, but Robbie’s not to blame. There is a hell on earth.” You fall asleep before you can finish. Not even the gunshots wake you up.

 

\------------

 

_You don’t like the stuff that Bro drinks. You thought if you put it in apple juice like he does it would taste okay, but it really doesn’t. Nothing about it is okay as you choke and cough. But, you can’t really sleep, and after Bro drank a few glasses of it, he had fallen right asleep. You want to sleep, too._

_“Dave, what in the hell are you doing?” Bro asks as he sits up from the futon. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s sweating a little._

_“I-I just,” you start, but you really don’t know what to say. If you tell him you wanted to be cool like him then that would just be sad. If you tell him the truth that would be even sadder. You’re too old to be having nightmares. You can’t even come up with something that would be ironically cool._

_Bro gets up and stumbles toward you. “What is this?” he asks and grabs the glass from you. He sniffs it, sips it, and then looks down at you with a look that you can’t read. Even without his shades, his eyes don’t make sense._

_“Dave,” he says as he gets down on his knees and he looks like he’s looking past you. “Don’t you ever, ever drink this shit again,” he tells you. “It’s poison.”_

_“B-but you drink it,” you reply. You don’t doubt him, though, your stomach feels like it did when you ate all your Halloween candy in one night._

_“I’m a grownup,” Bro replies. “And sometimes grownups need a little poison to stop feeling so much for a little bit. You’re not a grown-up, you need to feel.” He cups your face a little too hard. “Do you understand?”_

_You nod and fight the tears that want to come out. You’re not wearing your shades. “Uh-huh,” you tell him. Really, you don’t, because why would anyone want to take poison? That makes no sense._

_“Good,” Bro says and lets go of your face. “Now grab a frying pan. I’ll make some breakfast.”_

_“B-but it’s still night time,” you tell him in confusion._

_Bro pauses. “Oh,” he says. “Then go to bed.” You watch Bro stumble back to his futon. He doesn’t move anything like he usually does and all you can think is that it’s because he had too much poison. You decide to sleep with him and make sure he’s okay. He has to assure you at least three times that it won’t kill him, that he didn’t have that much._

_The glasses and bottles that litter the table tell you otherwise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt good to get another one of these chapters done. Finally heading across the lake. Oh the things I have instore for you all.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Hope a 25 page update makes up for the wait on this! Now that so many of the other stories are all wrapped up I can work more on this one!
> 
> World map can be found HERE: http://www.silenthillmemories.net/sh0/maps/pics/cedar_groove_sanitarium_1f.jpg

Your bunk is a piece of crap. Seriously, whoever designed it didn’t know what they were doing. College students shouldn’t have to sleep on something that is going to mess up their backs even more than their book bags. Oh, great, it feels like you’ve lost your pillow and your blanket from the chill on your skin. Did you leave the window open?

 

Reaching around your head, you grab at where you’re hoping your pillow is. You really don’t want to get up. Getting up means classes, and dealing with people, and having to call your Dad and tell him that you got a C on that test you had boasted you had down before going drinking with Dave. 

 

“Where the fuck,” you grumble as you turn over and open your eyes. You want your pillow. It only takes a moment before you realize there is no pillow and this isn’t your bunk. Your bunk isn’t a dingy gray with no sheets. There are even stains on this and they don’t look particularly nice. You don’t need your glasses to realize that.

 

“Took you long enough.” Your head jerks sideways towards the raspy voice and you can see a person on the other side of the room. They seem to be sitting on a similar bunk, their body completely gray. “If you had slept much longer I would have shaken your ass awake,” they continue. “Almost did when she first threw you in here. It didn’t look like you were breathing.” 

 

“Who are you?” you ask as you sit up and god damn it your head is pounding. Where are you? What’s going on? The student hospital didn’t seem like this big of a dump the last time you visited. You grope around on the small metal table next to you for your glasses.

 

“What? Did Vriska brainwipe you or do you really just have that shitty of a short-term memory?” He sounds angry and it makes your hands shake. Or really, something else is making them shake. The gnawing feeling in your belly is telling you to just ignore this prick, lay back down in your cot, and go to sleep. That if you do, then you won’t have to deal with what comes with seeing.

 

You put your glasses on.

 

These aren’t your glasses, this isn’t the student hospital, and the person sitting across from you isn’t human.

 

“Karkat?” you ask, and your head is swimming. It feels like something had been flushed out of it and all your memories are trying to expand and occupy the space as much as they can. It hurts a little to talk, like the side of your face is swollen.

 

“And a happy hello you to you too, John,” Karkat replies with as much sarcasm as he is able to muster. In the dirty fluorescent lighting, he looks like hell. There are bandages wrapped all around his arms and neck, his left eye is somewhat swollen, and his lip is split. He looks clean, though, like he’s been scrubbed down.

 

“What happened to you?” you ask as you get up. He’s not wearing the same thing as before, his body instead encased in what looks almost like gray pajamas. The top is just a t-shirt and the loose sweatpant bottoms hit his ankles. Glancing down, you are surprised to find you are wearing the same. Not only that but you’re clean as well. All the scratches and cuts have been dressed, your skin is grime free, and even when you touch your ear you find that there are new bandages dressing it.

 

“Kanaya found me,” he replies as you look yourself over. “After those fucking sala-slima-...lizard things chased me back up top.” ‘

 

“Kanaya?” you ask. That isn’t a name you’ve heard before. At least you don’t think it is.

 

“Chainsaw girl,” he replies and that makes you shudder.

 

“Is she the one who...you know?” You open your arms and look down at yourself. Karkat sighs.

 

“Changed us? Yeah, probably. I don’t think even with Vriska in her head she could have left me fucked up and grimy like that. She’s got too much of a kind streak in her.” Karkat looks away and you follows his gaze. There is a door, though it looks severely rusted, and in places, the metal is flaking off. The glass in its small window is cracked as well.

 

“Where are we?” you ask as you look around the room. Besides the odd beds, there isn’t much. A toilet, blank walls that have odd rounded pieces of metal poking out of them, and a sink that is stained just as yellow as the toilet.

 

“Vriska’s little funhouse,” Karkat responds. 

 

You stare blankly at him.

 

Karkat heaves a sigh of annoyance. “I don’t fucking know where we are, okay? It’s just where Kanaya was told to bring us.”

 

“Is...is Kanaya still here?” Shit. Shit that is not good. If she’s here, and you’re stuck in this room, then the second that this Vriska person wants you dead it is as good as done. You need out. 

 

“Of course she’s here,” Karkat snaps as you go for the door. “She’s stuck as Vriska’s puppet. She tells her to go somewhere, then she’ll go there, and that’s not going to work,” he adds as you start to tug at the door. Despite its decrepit state, it is shut tight.

 

“Crap,” you finally say with a pant when you pull back. Glancing around the room again you note that there aren’t any windows. Wherever you are, all there is are the black holes and cold decrepit tile. Panic starts to rise in the back of your throat but you quickly try to swallow it down. Living with Dave for just over half a decade has taught you a few things, like don’t panic. At least not immediately. 

 

“Have you tr-”

 

“Yes,” he interrupts.

 

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” you snap, annoyed.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Karkat replies. His voice is dark, bitter, and it isn’t helping your growing sense of panic. “I’ve tried every fucking thing you could think of to get out of here, but that door is locked up tighter than a fucking chastity belt on a virgin mother-grub.”

 

You only momentarily wonder what a mother-grub is before you cross your arms and glare at him. “Then what do we do?” you ask him.

 

Karkat doesn’t look at you when he replies. “Sit here and wait for Vriska to come and tear out our entrails and use them as wallpaper.” 

 

Anger spikes. “You can’t be seriou-!”

 

“Shut up!” he snaps. Karkat’s eyes are doing that weird thing where they look like they are going to start bleeding. His claw-like hands dig deep grooves into the mattress. “Just fucking shut up. There is no way out, I’m going to be culled by the biggest bitch alive and you’re going to be turned into some sort of fucked up pet if I know Vriska’s twisted pan.”

 

“But we can’t just give up,” you try. “We can’t just, I don’t know, fucking wait for her!” 

 

“Yes, we can,” he responds. “Watch.” He pulls his knees to his chest, crosses his arms over his knees, closes his eyes, and sits as calmly as if he were waiting for a bus. It makes you angry, really angry, but you don’t say shit. Instead, you start walking around, looking, because you are not going to give up. 

 

 _Don’t panic, there is always something you can do. Remember the pine tree? Twenty feet up and you and Dave still got out._ The thought makes you feel a little better. _And broke bones in the process,_ a less helpful memory adds. God, you hate your brain sometimes. _Better broken than dead._

 

You don’t care if Karkat’s already looked, you’re going to look too. As you go around the room, push at the walls and the door again, you feel a draft over your bare feet. Your pants ruffle in the slight breeze and you shiver. Wait a minute.

 

“Where did that come from?” you ask. Turning, you try and see if you can find a vent or something in the floor. Maybe there is some yellowing and rust streaked tile falling apart that you can pry away from the wall.

 

“Where did what come from?” Karkat asks blandly as you turn in a circle. 

 

“The wind, where is it coming from?” you ask him as you feel it again.

 

“How the fuck should I know?” Karkat grumbles, but he gets up and starts walking around with you. The wind keeps coming, sometimes from up high, sometimes near your ankles, and not always in the same direction. Yet there are no cracks, no holes, just the black inky spots on the wall.

 

“Hey, Karkat?” you ask as you walk towards one near the door. It’s a little larger than one of those circular sleds you had as a kid. A breeze passes over your stomach and it makes your mouth go dry with the implication. “Have you ever, you know, tried to go through one of these?”

 

There is a scoffing sound behind you. “What? Do you think I’m suicidal? Of course not. Besides,” he continues as he walks up to you. “These things only ever seem to show up when you're around.” That surprises you a bit, but really, you guess you shouldn’t be. This place makes no sense anyways.

 

“Well...what if…” you start to extend your hand but Karkat quickly grabs it.

 

“What are you doing?” he hisses. “Do you have a death wish?”

 

“Hey, do you have any better ideas?” you snap back. “It’s pretty much our only option. I mean, look. Those things can go through them, why can’t we?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe because those things are fucking insane and unyielding pieces of-of- god damn it!”

 

“Come on, we have to try it.”

 

“No, no we don’t,” he says back. “That is the worst idea I’ve heard in this shit hole and I’ve heard some pretty bad ones!”

 

“We wait here, we’re dead. Least we can do is give it a shot. I mean, they might just go right through this wall,” you try.

 

“And what if they don’t,” Karkat snaps. “What if they take us someplace completely different where we don’t know where the hell we are!”

 

“Well, how about we stop acting like we have no options and try and find some semblance of positivity and try it!” It comes out as a shout and it seems to surprise Karkat. 

 

He rubs at the back of his neck. “Fine,” he says. “Fine, fine, but if you get your arm bit off I swear that-”

 

“Kar?” The sound is soft, muffled, but you both hear it. Karkat stops talking, and the two of you look at the door. “Kar, is that you?” 

 

Karkat is up against the door immediately.

 

“Eridan!?” he calls into the hallway. “Eridan, holy fuck, you’re still alive?”

 

You push up to the door with Karkat, eyes looking every which way. There is nothing but the rust patterned tile on the floor.

 

“If you call this livin,” he calls, voice muffled. He seems to be in the room next to you.

 

“Is anyone else here?” Karkat calls. “Sollux? Feferi? What about Gamzee or Equius?” There is silence for a moment. “Erid-”

 

“Just me,” you hear, and the voice is thick. “Vris…” his voice cuts out. 

 

“Vriska what?” Karkat asks. There is nothing. “Vriska WHAT!” The shout makes you jump back as Karkat hits the door. You watch the knuckles on his hand split but Karkat barely seems to notice. The blood that streaks over the surface is candy apple red, nothing like your own.

 

“I fucked up,” is what comes back, broken and thick, a small sob at the end.

 

Karkat’s breathing quickens and you have no idea what is going on. Who is Eridan, you don’t remember that name, but you remember Gamzee. You can guess that Eridan has got to be one of Karkat’s friends at least.

 

“Eridan,” Karkat calls. “Eridan what happened?”

 

“I thought,” Eridan gives a smalls sob. “Thought I could beat the bitch. But-” His voice cracks.

 

“Eridan, breathe. Come on, you have to tell me what happened,” Karkat’s voice is somewhere between soothing and tears. You look at him as he presses his head to the cracked glass, eyes trying to see the impossible.

 

“I think I killed Fef,” comes out as a sob. “Her and that fuckin yellow blooded prick. I think I-” the sob that follows is so broken you feel your stomach drop out. Next to you, Karkat’s hands clench on the door, and his nails make a sound that sends ice shooting up your spine. 

 

“Eridan, you didn’t kill anyone. Vriska must be stronger, got into your he-”

 

“IT WAS ME!” comes so harsh and loud through the door that Karkat backs into you. “It was me,” is repeated. “I-I lost it. I just wanted it over. They tried to stop me and I...I…”

 

“Eridan,” Karkat says so softly that you’re not sure even Eridan can hear it. “What did you do?”

 

Down the hall, there is the sound of a door opening and then the purr of a chainsaw. It startles you all into silence. It’s not the harsh grating sound as if it were running but instead sounds like it is idling. It’s still one of the most horrifying things you’ve ever heard.

 

“Get to your bunk,” Karkat hisses as he skitters back to his bunk and lays down. You stare between him and the door for a moment before doing the same. Whipping off your glasses, you lay down and try to be as still as you can. It’s hard to control your breathing, but you manage. Outside the door, you can hear the idling of the chainsaw and footsteps as Kanaya passes, her shadow outside the door. The sound of a key in a lock makes you freeze, but when a door swings open it isn’t yours.

 

There is a slight scuffle down the hall from you, a momentary whir of the chainsaw, and then something being dragged. There is some sort of muffled sound as well, like grunting or groaning, but you can’t be sure. 

 

“K-Kan,” you hear before it is choked off. Through the barest crack of your eyelids, you watch, but nothing comes to your door. It sounds like she is down the hall from you, and you are happy for that. Though the footsteps do pause and it makes your heart hammer. Is she going to come back for you? 

 

The footsteps start again and the dragging resumes. Neither of you breathes regularly until she is gone along with the dragging noise. You slip your glasses over your nose to see that Karkat has gone as pale as the pajamas he wears.

 

“Karkat?” you ask softly. “What-”

 

“Let’s try the damn holes,” he says quick and gets off the bed.

 

With a nod, you get off your bed and walk towards the hole near the door. “Look out the window,” you tell Karkat as he walks up next to you. “Tell me if you can see anything.”

 

Karkat nods and stands on his tiptoes so that he can see at a good enough angle to where your hand will hopefully be coming out. He jerks back.

 

“What?” you ask him. He looks sick. Getting up, you go to the window and look out. There are two stripes down the hall, a vibrant purple that looks like some sort of silly putty almost. 

 

“The hell is that?” you ask him. 

 

Karkat shakes his head. “J-just get on with it,” he tells you.

 

You’re unsure of what’s happening but it makes something in your belly feel off. Your eyes glance at his blood on the door, so bright and strangely colored, then out the window. “Is that his…” you trail off. Karkat refuses to look at you. “Karkat, is that Eridan’s blood?”

 

He shoots away from you and to the toilet. His hands grip the sides as he hurls into the sickeningly gray water, adding tinges of red and dark browns. It makes your stomach heave a little, but you keep from vomiting. When he finishes, he wipes his mouth on the back of his arm, leaving a slight wisp of red. You hope he didn’t just puke up blood, though it didn’t seem thick enough for that, the color not as vibrant.

 

He doesn’t get up when he’s done. You’re very careful as you come forward. His body is shaking as he hunches over the bowl, hands gripping tightly to the sides. 

 

“Karkat?” you ask gently and your fingers skim his shoulder. He rounds on you.

 

“I’m fine!” he snaps so loud that it echoes in the tiny room. His eyes are dripping red, his teeth bared and sharp. You swallow at the lump in your throat. His body relaxes second by second until his sitting on the floor, eyes still staring at you but with nothing more than a smolder held in them. “I’m fine,” he adds again and the red orbs drop to the floor. 

 

You offer him a hand as he sits. He stares at it but after a moment he takes it. His eyes don’t come off the floor. You keep your hand on his for a moment longer than necessary, squeeze the strangely clawed fingers, and then let it drop.

 

Neither of you say anything as he goes back to the door and you go to the hole. You don’t know what you could say right now that wouldn’t make him possibly vomit again. You want to know about the blood, about who Eridan had been talking about. A girl and a ‘yellow blooded prick’. Maybe the purple out there isn’t such a strange thing after all. What other colors are there?

 

You shove the thoughts away as you place yourself in front of the sled-sized hole again.

 

“Can you see the wall?” you ask him. 

 

Karkat has to stand on his toes and turn his head awkwardly, but he seems to manage it when he puts his face right up to the edge of the window. “Yeah,” he says as he grips at the window frame and door, doing his best to stay steady. “Try it.”

 

With a deep breath, you take your hand and hover it over the hole. It’s such a stupid idea, a really stupid idea, but you need to try. You need a way out. At first, you only put the tips of your fingers against the dark, making sure it isn’t solid. It isn’t but it is cold. 

 

“Hurry it up,” Karkat hisses. 

 

You plunge your hand inside. 

 

The gasp you let out is more out of pain than anything else. The inside of the dark hole is so cold that you feel like your skin may be burning. You pull it back in quickly and hug it tight against your chest.

 

“What, what?” Karkat asks as you stumble back and land on your butt. You cradle the hand against your chest, pulling your knees up to try and supply it with as much warmth as possible. He gets down next to you, staring at your arm. His hands are warm when they wrap around your forearm, and his face flashes in surprise.

 

“I-It’s c-c-cold.,” you manage. 

 

He lets out a sigh. “Fucking hell, I thought something had gone wrong,” he tells you as he helps you rub at the skin. 

 

You shake your head. “N-no,” you respond as your limb fights to go back to a normal temperature. The skin has broken out in gooseflesh and your nails look like they may be tipped in ice. “Did you s-see anything?” you ask.

 

Karkat nods. “Yeah, but not where I expected.” 

 

You cock your head at him. 

 

“It showed up further down the hall, on the opposite wall.” 

 

Well, that makes perfectly backward sense. You sigh. “I’ll take it,” you tell him. You get up and stare at the hole. Somewhere deep in the building, you hear the chainsaw rev. It is almost completely muffled, a barely there twinge. It makes you shiver.

 

“Me too,” Karkat says when it’s over.

 

You give him a slight smirk. “So much for giving up.” 

 

His response is a glare as he gets up to stand by the window. You go back to the hole.

 

“See you on the other side,” you tell him. It sounds like he’s about to say something, but before you can hear it you jump through the hole. You keep your knees tucked up to your chest and your head down as low as you can get it. The cold is intense, like jumping through something solid, and it is impossible for you to untuck yourself when you come out the other side. All you can manage is to rotate your body so that you land on your left side and not your face. Your head hits the ground and it rings when your bad ear smacks the tile.

 

“John,” you hear in front of you followed by banging. “John, are you okay?” 

 

It takes you a moment to shift, body shivering hard. You feel like you’re covered in frost.“J-jump in,” you call. “Th-the shadows are g-great.”

 

Karkat gives you a glare through the window in the door and then disappears. A moment later he is stumbling out of the shadow.

 

“Ooof.” The syllable leaves your throat as he lands on you with a groan.

 

“What the hell was that?” Karkat asks, gasping. He’s already moving over you and it spurs you to try to get up as well.

 

“I don’t know,” you tell him as he rolls off. Somehow, you get your hands under you and then quickly shuffle sideways. Half of your hand is sticky with the purplish gunk on the floor. 

 

“Aw, damn it,” you grumble as you go to get up. It’s warm on your hand, and none too pleasant. Karkat stares at it as you both stand. He’s not shivering but you sure as hell are. The flimsy pajama-like clothing you’re wearing is doing little to keep your body heat in. You want your windbreaker back. You wipe your hand over the wall. The tile doesn’t take much of the blood away, but at least your hand isn’t coated in it.

 

“Where to now?” you ask Karkat when you pull your hand back, lines of the strange color stick to the sides of your fingers. He doesn’t quite respond. “Karkat?” you ask him.

 

“We follow Kanaya,” Karkat replies. His voice is thick as he looks down at the streaks that lead down the hall. Your eyes follow it back to a door of the cell and you can just see the room behind it is smeared in the stuff. Whoever this Eridan guy is, he is not doing okay.

 

“I-is that such a good idea?” you ask him.

 

“Do you have any o-”

 

“Nak.” 

 

Both of you freeze. “The fuck was that?” you ask.

 

“No idea,” Karkat responds as he looks over his shoulder.

 

“Nak nak.” It is coming from one of the closed doors. Whatever the thing is, it sounds hurt.

 

On somewhat unsteady feet you walk towards one of the rooms and peak inside. Something akin to a crocodile is laying on the floor. There are chains wrapped around it, keeping it anchored to the ground.

 

“What the hell?” you ask as you back up to let Karkat look. He doesn’t say much as you look around. The two of you are in a hallway with ten doors and two sets of double doors. As he looks at the strange crocodile you go for another door. Inside is one of your brownie recluses, chained up similarly to the crocodile, only it’s not just laying there. It is struggling to get to one of the holes in the walls, but the chains are holding it back.

 

“The hell is this thing?” you hear over your shoulder. You come back over and look inside another door. At first, you think it’s a kid, but there is something terribly wrong with her. 

 

“No idea,” you say as it looks at you, a sweet doll face with big purple eyes, familiar in ways you don’t really want to think about. It opens its mouth, and a bubble of something black comes out. It doesn’t seem to even realize the holes are there.

 

The two of you back away from the doors. “What do you think they’re doing here?” you ask Karkat softly, not really wanting to make much more noise.

 

“Vriska’s collecting them,” Karkat response. “At least I think she is. That's the only thing that makes sense.”

 

“Let’s get out of here,” you tell him.

 

He nods in agreement and you follow his lead towards the door Eridan was dragged through. You’re still cold and rubbing at your arms is doing very little. Your hand leaves smudges of blood on your skin but you don’t quite care. You’re not about to let it keep you from trying to warm up. 

 

The two of you are quite as you come to the door. Karkat grabs the knob gently, looks at you, and nods. You nod back slightly, eyes glued to the seam in the door. It opens on squeaking hinges that make you wince. Karkat pops his head out, looks one way, then the other, and then pushes it opened.

 

“Looks like we’re okay, for now,” he tells you as he steps into the hall, you follow. Your bare feet make slapping noises as the two of you walk down the hall. As of right now, you would kill for some socks. Oh god, what you wouldn’t give for those ridiculous Christmas socks Dave got you a few years ago. They had been girl’s knee highs, thick as hell, and the warmest damn things on this planet. They had been a joke, a gag, but the gag had been on him. You wear those things almost constantly during the winter, to the point that they can stand up on their own with how little you wash them.

 

The two of you follow the blood stain. The streaks go right as soon as you walk through the door and then through a doorway that looks like the doors were wrenched off by something. 

 

“This seems like a bad idea,” you tell him as you both walk through the halls. The response you get is hearing the muffled chainsaw. The two of you don’t have anything to defend yourselves with except for your fists and you don’t think they are going to do shit against the crazy chainsaw lady.

 

“You were the one who wanted out so bad,” Karkat snaps back. The next hall takes a right, and the bloodlines follow it. 

 

“Yeah well, maybe we shouldn’t be following the blood, maybe we should go the other way,” you point out.

 

Karkat acts like he doesn’t hear you for a moment. 

 

“Karkat?”

 

“I need to see if we can help him,” Karkat replies. 

 

You want to sigh, to tell him Eridan’s probably dead if the chainsaw means anything, but at the same time, you feel compelled to do the same. You’d want to find Dad or Dave, and you have no idea how Karkat and his friends work. Maybe a little blood loss doesn’t do shit.

 

“Okay,” you tell him as you keep going. The blood trail goes behind a set of double doors. The two of you set up again, you on one side, Karkat on the other, and he goes to push. Nothing happens.

 

“Damn it,” he snarls as he pushes again, and then again. You can hear something grating on the other side. “It’s been barricaded,” he grumbles when he stops shoving. 

 

You look to the side of the doors and see the symbol for stairs. “Who the hell barricades stairs?” you ask.

 

“Someone who doesn’t want to be fucking followed,” Karkat tells you. Both of you step back.   
“Come on,” he says. “There has to be another way down.”

 

“Maybe we should see if we can find anything first, like weapons?” you cut in, feeling a bit happy that the door didn’t open. “I’d feel better if I at least had a pipe or something.”

 

Karkat nods. “Yeah, okay.”

 

There are only five doors in this hallway, and you split up. You start with the closest door but it doesn’t open. Turning around, you bypass the two to your right that Karkat is checking and go check the first room near the pulled-off double doors. Inside, you find something akin to a doctor’s office. Your eyes scan along the walls and see broken jars, some random boxes, and other miscellaneous supplies. In the center, on the table, is what looks like a wolf. You freeze when you see it, think about closing the door, but it isn’t moving. 

 

Swallowing, you take a few small steps inside. Nothing happens as you gently paw at the shelves.You look for a scalpel, or a needle, something you could use, but all you end up finding is a first aid bag. It’s better than nothing, and you take it.

 

On the way out you look over the wolfish creature. Before, you hadn’t gotten a good look at them, but this is giving you more than you wanted. Its giant jaw is partially opened, letting you see down into its throat in the half light caused by the one fluorescent in the room. Around the creature's eyes are circles, thick and black. They remind you of the glasses you’re wearing.

 

“Jesus, Jake, what the fuck are these things?” you ask out loud. The body gives a jolt, and you run from the room.

 

Once you have the door between you and it, you calm down and listen. You can hear Karkat in one of the rooms, letting out small murmurs and cusses as he moves things around. You badly want to call out and see if he’s found anything but that doesn’t seem like the best idea. There hasn’t been a chainsaw rev in a while now.

 

Behind the second door is a bathroom, which you decide to use, though when you empty your bowels you make sure to hover over the rust-streaked porcelain instead of touching it. You have no idea what kind of shit could literally be smeared over it. There is no toilet paper, but you do find some wet wipes in the bag. They smell strongly of alcohol, but you would rather not have to deal with the discomfort of a dirty ass.

 

“What are you doing?” Karkat hisses into the dimly lit bathroom. 

 

“Sorry,” you call to him as you go to flush. Not that it does anything. You come out of the stall holding the bag. “When you gotta go,” you say with a shrug.

 

“Why didn’t you go in the cell?” Karkat asks as he stays in the doorway.

 

You shrug again. “Privacy?” 

 

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He pushes past you into the bathroom.

 

“What are you doing?” you ask as he disappears into one of the stalls. A moment later you hear the sound of liquid hitting porcelain. 

 

“When you gotta go,” reaches your ears and it makes you chuckle.

 

“Any luck?” you ask him when he comes out. He shakes his head.

 

“Not unless you want to run around with pieces of broken glass in your pocket,” Karkat grumbles. 

 

“I found this,” you offer. He looks at the first aid bag and gives a nod.

 

“Better than nothing.”

 

The two of you backtrack to where you first exited, taking the left set of double doors out into another hallway. There are three doors in here. Two are shut, but the other is half opened. Inside you see something tall, human like, and it makes deep dread fill your stomach. You inch closer Karkat sticks to your side.

 

“The hell is that?” Karkat asks.

 

You don’t answer, just stare at it, because the shape is scarily familiar, though you can’t place it. A gentle crowing noise comes from the room and you reach for the door and quickly shut it. No sound follows it.

 

“Are you okay?” Karkat asks you as you stand back from the door.

 

“Yeah,” you tell him even though you feel quite ill. “I’m fine.” You really want to know how Dave is doing right now.

 

The two of you keep going down the hall and there is another set of stairs, but they are also barricaded. The doors are warped together with what looks like skid marks from a chainsaw.

 

“Fuck,” Karkat bites out as he tries to find a way to get the doors open. You, in turn, drift to the second set of double doors facing the stairs. These ones have strips of glass in them, allowing you to see out. The room you see makes panic fill your chest. It’s the main hall, or it was. Where it had just been storm blown before it is now trashed. From what you can see, there is glass all over, pieces of the ceiling have fallen in, and there is debris marring the ground. You go to open the door but it sticks.

 

“Double fuck,” you tell him as he comes over. “How are we going to get in there?”

 

“Maybe this’ll have a way through,” Karkat replies as he goes to a door on your right. The words ‘Day Room’ are scrawled into a plaque that is dripping rusty water from behind it. He pulls on the door and it comes open on screaming hinges. The two of you look into the dim room. There are no lights left in this one, the whole front of it having been torn away. All you can see beyond the debris ladened floor is a drop off into the swirling mist.

 

“Come on,” Karkat says as he steps inside. “Let’s go.”

 

You follow closely, eyes darting every which way as the two of you enter. When the door closes behind you, there is a crash. The two of you grab for each other at the same time and turn to find that some sort of table has fallen from where it had been propped against a wall along with a whole other slew of items.

“Shit,” you says through your gritted teeth. “Glad I already pissed.”

 

There is a laugh in response.

 

“Not that funny,” you tell him. Karkat’s hand grips your arm tighter.

 

“That wasn’t, fucking, me,” he bites out. 

 

There is another small laugh and the jingle of bells. That is not a sound you like, not at all. It sends fear shooting through you and you turn quickly to find the imp already running for you, shiv raised high. 

 

“Fuck!” You shove Karkat hard, pushing yourself back in the process, and it runs right between the two of you.

 

“John!” Karkat calls as it turns and runs at you.

 

“Find a way out!” you scream back. The imp slices at you, and you jump away, doing your best to dodge around its attacks.

 

“The door is blocked!” Karkat calls. You chance a look up and see Karkat by another door that has some sort of tall cage in front of it. Inside you can see what looks like three or four imp’s body parts. When you look back at Karkat, you see an imp is creeping up behind him, a broken bottle in its hand.

 

“Watch out!” you yell at him, but don’t get to see if he makes it out of harm's way. You’re too preoccupied with not getting any new injuries. It’s hard to keep your legs away from the imp as it chases you around the room. You catch glimpses of Karkat trying to kick off his own. He connects with it and you stumble when it sails past you. It distracts the other imp a bit and you take the moment to hit it as hard as you can with the first aid kit, sending it spinning.

 

It gives you time to look around. Looking upwards you can see some sort of chain hanging from a pulley. It looks like it had snapped and you realize it is connected to the cage in front of the door. How the fuck are you going to get to that thing? 

 

“Shit shit shit,” you mutter as the imp straightens and comes for you. The other imp is back up, as well.

 

“What do we do?” Karkat calls to you as he picks up a board and swings at the imp.

 

Your eyes look around. If you could get on his shoulders you might be able to reach it, but you wouldn’t have the time to do so with the imps. You chance a look up after smacking your imp in the face again. The chain is close to the wall. Close to a hole. 

 

“Try the holes!” you call to him. 

 

Karkat must understand what you mean because on the next attack he manages to grab his imp and chucks it through a hole. When the imp comes out of one up higher on the same wall, it is barely moving when it hits the ground. 

 

“Not this one,” he calls as you stumble to grab a chunk of flooring. You throw it through another hole. It comes flying out of one in front of you and almost pegs you in the head. Stumbling, you feel a slight cut to the back of your leg, and it makes you hiss. No time to stop, though, you keep picking things up and chucking them through holes. Karkat’s the one who finds the one that leads to the chain.

 

“What do I do?” he calls to you.

 

“One sec,” you call back, feeling out of breath. The imp is still chasing you, but you have an idea. You run straight towards the hole, and dive. This is probably a super stupid idea, but fuck it, you need to move that cage. 

 

You go through the hole quickly, but it’s still freezing. When the chain hits your hands you almost forget what you’re doing but you manage to grab hold and you find yourself swinging forwards. Behind you, you hear the imp come through as well, tiny hands brushing over the back of your leg before it falls and hits the floor with a solid thud. You hang in the air a moment, body spasming with shivers. It’s hard to hold onto the chain.

 

“I don’t think you’re heavy enough,” Karkat calls up.

 

“F-fuck you man,” you say back. You have to be heavy enough, otherwise, this is just not going to work. Karkat can’t get to you, and even if he could, you're not sure you’d be able to keep your grip. With a grunt, you twist your body and try to pull down. The first aid bag smacks against the side of your head and makes you wince. The pulley makes an eerie noise, but it is promising. You move again, and again, twisting like a ribbon in the wind, until something gives and the floor starts coming up as you go down.

 

“Shit!” you yelp, but Karkat is there to partially catch you, arms around your waist and slowing you so you don’t hit too hard.

 

“Thanks,” you pant as your feet hit the floor.

 

Karkat’s response is an awkward nod, before taking the chain from you. Quickly you wrap your arms around yourself.

 

“I can’t believe that worked,” you tell him as you walk over to the door. Karkat follows you and reels in the slack to keep the cage above you both. You eye the cage before trying the knob. Your face falls. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you ask out loud. 

 

“Don’t tell me,” He mutters, “It’s locked.”

 

“This is bullshit, how-” you’re cut off as there is a jingling noise. The two of you look over to the side of the room, out over the drop-off, and see a dozen or so tiny black hands.

 

“Oh shit,” you whisper.

 

Karkat notices them as well. “Fucking-” he bites out as he hands you the chain. Your feet slide a bit, the new weight trying to put you on your toes for a moment, but you get it under control.

 

You watch in awe as Karkat runs at the imps, turns, and then runs straight for the door. What the fuck is he doing, it’s locked! It doesn’t stop Karkat though, who lowers his shoulder and just picks up speed.

 

“Karkat!” you scream when he hits the door, and there is a sickening sound of wood tearing, or maybe that’s something else. He stumbles into the hall as the imps come up over the side and run at you.

 

“Come on!” he screams and you run through as well, hands still holding the chain. You stumble on the broken door and sharp objects dig into your hands as you hit the floor. Karkat is up in a second, but not quick enough to stop the surprisingly heavy imp from landing on your back. You expect a blade to bite in, but instead, you find tiny fingers in your hair. They pull your head back and then go to shove your head down.

 

“No you don’t,” you hear just before your head hits. Karkat grabs the imp off your back. You feel hair part with your scalp, making you cry out, but the imp is shortly airborne and away from you. You let go of the chain you are still somehow holding, and in a moment the cage crashes down in front of the small horde. There is a crunching sound as it crushes a couple upon impact.

 

“Come on,” Karkat gasps as he reaches for you. His right arm is hanging oddly next to his side. You take his left hand, get up, and start to run. You don’t get far. There are more imps in this room. 

 

“Shit!” you exclaim and quickly pull Karkat to the left. You have no idea if the room is even going to be open, but you pray that it is. The door that you had entered through when you first came here opens jerkily under your hand, but you manage to get it open, pull Karkat through behind you, and then you both ram yourselves against it. The lock takes a moment to slide into place, but it feels secure.

 

“Fucking hell,” Karkat grits as he slides down the wall. “I don’t think that’s going to do much.” He looks around the room at the holes.

 

“Did you see how they acted when they went through,” you reply. “I don’t think they like the holes much.” You take a few more breaths as you lean back against a heavy metal shelf. “Is your arm alright?” you ask him as his good hand grips at it.

 

“Dislocated,” he replies. “I can fix it,” he adds before you can ask.”What about your leg?”

 

You glance down and look at the back of your calf. “Just a scratch,” you tell him

 

Karkat nods. “Find us a fucking way out of here,” he tells you as he grips his shoulder tight.

 

Not wanting to witness whatever he’s about to do, you start searching. It is easy to realize that there are no doors in the room and the blown out windows don’t provide much more than muted light. There is nothing but a sheer drop beyond them. The light they do let in allows you to look around, not that you’re sure you’re happy to. The room has a few shelves, all rusted and old, that hold sparse boxes filled with bits and pieces of creatures. In one, you find what looks like a stone heart, scorch marks all over the box. Another has feathers, one smells like burned dirt, and another has imp clothing and a shiv.

 

“Oh hell yes,” you say when you happen upon two boxes with very familiar items inside.

 

There is a gasp of pain when you say it and you turn to find Karkat holding his arm which looks a bit more attached. “What did you find?” he asks between his teeth as you grab the boxes.

 

“Here,” you say and hand him a box. His eyes brighten as he sees his sickles sitting on top.   
“Found my stuff too,” you add as you hold up your box. 

 

“Best news I’ve heard all fucking day,” he tells you as he stands. Karkat winces a bit with his arm, but he does his best to keep his face from showing the pain. He pulls out his old clothing, a belt, his scythes, and a few other small items. You take out your own items and start to change. You layer the t-shirts, put on the slightly too long jeans, and you find your socks and shoes. It looks like the socks were washed, though they are stained all to hell. Even the worst of the mud has been cleaned off your shoes.

 

“Damn,” you say as you look at them. “Was this Kanaya too?” you ask as you show them to Karkat.

 

“Probably,” Karkat says. “Like I said, she likes to take care of people. Having Vriska in her head is probably driving her mad.” He holds up his pants. They are cleaned but fuck if they aren’t stained and torn all to hell. Below the knee, on both legs, the cloth is nothing but ribbons. You can see where a salamander popped a bubble on the back of one of his legs, where another probably tried to shred his skin, and wince. 

 

“Fuck,” is all he says as he drops his clothing back into the box. “Think I’ll be sticking with these stupid pajamas.” 

 

“At least they’re clean,” you point out as Karkat goes to put on his belt. It doesn’t work without loops.

 

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles as it tries to slip down his hips. 

 

The laughter comes out of you suddenly. 

 

Karkat’s eyes go wide in surprise. “What?” he snaps as you continue to laugh.

 

“Y-you look ridiculous,” is all you can respond with before you grab the jeans back out of his box. “Here,” you say. “Let me have one of your scythes.” 

 

Karkat raises an eyebrow but does as he’s told. You take his old pants and cut all the shredded fabric off just below the knee on one side, and mid-calf on the other. “There.” You hand them back. He stares at the pants a moment before turning and shedding the gray ones. You quickly look away as he pulls them on. He’s not wearing any underwear. 

 

“Thanks,” he says as you busy yourself with cutting off the extra inches on your jeans.

 

“No problem,” you tell him as you hand the scythe back. You start putting on your own belt, filling it with items, and loop the first aid kit onto it. 

 

“Do you want this back?” Karkat asks and you turn to find him holding out your pocket knife. 

 

“Holy shit, you still have this?” You take it gently and hold the present. To be honest, you had completely forgotten about the thing. 

 

“Yeah, forgot to give it back to you in the tunnels,” he says as he fixes his belt in place. He doesn’t change his shirt, though.

 

It makes you smile to have it back in your possession, but… “You keep it,” you tell him as you hand it back over.

 

“What, why?” he asks as he holds the small item.

 

“I’ve already got a backup, you lose your sickles, or that belt, then you’re fucked. Unless you want this instead.” You present the gun to him and part of you really wants him to take it, and another really wants to keep it.

 

“No thank you,” he says as he looks at it. “Those things make me fucking nervous.”

 

“That makes two of us,” you reply as you tuck the gun away, finger checking the safety as you do. You look in the box and see the last of your protein bars. You pick them up and offer him one. “Snack break?”

 

Karkat is more than up for a snack break, and the two of you sit against the wall to eat the last bar.

 

“So, why can’t Vriska control you?” you ask as you take a bite. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since you last ate, but it calms you to have food in your stomach and your hammer on your hip.

 

“My blood, we think,” Karkat replies before taking the bar. “Higher your blood color, the harder it is for her to control you. She can barely touch Fef and Eridan, but she still has some sway over Gamzee, almost full over Equius, and then from there on down she has total control.” Karkat bites into the bar with almost a tearing motion, anger apparent on his features. 

 

“Blood color?” you ask in confusion as you take a bite of the bar.

 

“Going to guess you only have one color,” Karkat says.

 

You nod. “Yeah, though we have different skin colors,” you add quickly.

 

“Do those have a hierarchy?” Karkat’s voice hints at something dismal.

 

It’s an odd question for him to ask. “No,” you reply quickly but then pause. “I mean…not really.” You sit with him in the half light. “There are assholes out there that that would say we do.”

 

The two of sit in silence as you go between taking small bites of the bar until it’s gone.

 

“So,” Karkat says as he brushes crumbs from his shirt. “What do we do now? We can’t go back the way we came.” 

 

You nod. “Yeah, I don’t think those little fuckers are going to go anywhere soon.” Even now you can hear the barest of giggles from behind the door.

 

Karkat heaves a sigh. “Looks like we’re going to have to pick a hole then.” 

 

You had been having the same thought, though you hadn’t wanted to voice it. With your windbreaker and shoes you aren’t as worried, but fuck if it isn’t still going to be cold. 

 

“I chose last time,” you tell him. Karkat lets out an annoyed grunt but starts looking. You get up and reach into your box. There are two items left. One is your flashlight, the other is the broken pipe. It makes your stomach drop to see it, but you shove it into the pouch anyways.

 

“This one looks big enough,” comes from the back of the room.

 

You walk over and squint at the dark hole in the wall. It’s just a little smaller than the one in the cell, but it’s the biggest one you’ve seen in the room. You wonder how the brownie recluses get through them so easily. 

 

“Yeah,” you say. “That’ll work.”

 

Karkat goes first, doesn’t even hesitate, just jumps through. For a moment you’re afraid to follow. What if it goes outside? What if you end up back in the room full of imps? A rock comes through, not hard, but it does make you jump. Then another. 

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you mumble before jumping through the hole. The cold is just as intense as last time, the clothing not helping at all, but you land on your feet with a grunt. Wherever you are, it’s almost pitch black.

 

“Where are we?” you gasp.

 

“No idea,” Karkat murmurs back. “I don’t know what we were thinking, doing this.”

 

“We were thinking with portals,” you reply as you rub at your arms. He moves closer to you in dark.

 

“What?” he asks as you turn on your flashlight.

 

You’re too cold to really care that he doesn’t get the joke, so instead you just shrug. “Sorry,” you tell him. “It’s from a game Dave and I like.” 

 

“Who’s, Dave?” Karkat asks as you sweep your light down the hall. It startles you.

 

“What?” you ask.

 

“Dave. Who’s, Dave?” Karkat asks again, looking away from the floor and directing all of his attention at you. It feels intense.

 

“H-he’s my friend,” you stammer, and you aren’t sure if it’s from the cold or Karkat’s stare that is trying to penetrate your skull. “The one trying to help me find my Dad.”

 

“Someone else is here _with_ you?” Karkat asks you in confusion.

 

“Well yeah, I mean, well he’s not _here_ here,” you reply. “He’s back at the house in the graveyard. We went there after the crash an-”

 

“You left your friend alone!” Karkat screams into your face. The sound ricochets down the hallway. You stumble backward, absolutely confused at where this sudden anger is coming from.

 

“Jesus, fuck, what is wrong with you,” you snap. Your heart races as you lean against a wall. You keep the light trained at his feet while the other holds the top of your hammer. If he moves, you’re swinging.

 

“You _left_ your friend in the middle of this nightmare world!” Karkat just yells back. “How the _fuck_ did that _ever_ seem like a good idea?” His chest is heaving.

 

“I didn’t just leave him, he’s was with…” you trail off. “He’s somewhere safe!”

 

“How is anywhere here safe?” Karkat snarls.

 

“Hey! I had no choice!” you yell back. “We were in an accident, he was unconscious, and Silent Hill hadn’t gone into nightmare mode!”

 

“Silent Hill?” Karkat sounds absolutely pissed but he also sounds confused. “The fuck is Silent Hill?” 

 

“It’s where we are!” The words roll down the hall, bouncing back and forth as Karkat stares at you.

 

“You know where we are?” he asks dumbly.

 

“No- yes- I don’t fucking know,” you tell him as you slump against the wall and run a hand through your hair. “I lived here when I was a kid, okay. Me, my Dad, and my Nana. We moved away when I was little. Nana died a few weeks back and Dad came out here and I haven’t heard from him in weeks. That’s why I’m here.” You take a breath and look at Karkat. He is staring at you with his arms crossed, waiting. You continue.

 

“Dave came with me. I mean, Dad’s pretty much been Dave's Dad since he was thirteen and he moved in with us after his Bro died. When I said I was going to get Dad, Dave came with me.”

 

“And your thank you was to leave him behind?” Karkat asks, voice still ridged, but not quite as angry.

 

“We were in an accident,” you bite out. “I got knocked out. He dragged me through a fucking forest to some house. The guy that was there, Jake, had said he was going to watch him while I went to find Dad.” You start to shake. “Fucking liar. I’ve been running into him all throughout town.” Dave is alone somewhere, hurt, and it’s because of you. You just had to leave without him, couldn’t wait for him to wake up. For all you know, Jake has done something to him. Quickly, you try to shove that thought away.

 

“So you didn’t leave him alone?” Karkat asks. The words are gentler but still angry.

 

“No! What kind of friend do you think I am?” you snap, though there isn’t much anger left, just an ache in your chest.

 

Karkat kicks at the ground. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I thought that-”

 

The revving of a chainsaw cuts him off. Both of you freeze as you stand in the hall, staring at one another. It comes again and with the echo you can’t tell from which direction it is coming from.

 

“Shit,” you say as you look down the hallway in one direction and then the other. “Oh shit.” The beam isn’t going far enough, you can’t tell where she is. You can-

 

“Run!” Karkat roars and pulls you. You go without question, feet pounding. The light you hold bounces over the floor as you two sprint through the tunnel. Where are you? Where did that fucking hole take you? You think about jumping through one, but it could just as easily put you right in front of her, so instead you run. Behind you, there is nothing but the roar of the chainsaw. 

 

The door bounces up suddenly out of the darkness and you both have to skid to a halt to pull it open. It gives you a moment to look back over your shoulder and god you wish you hadn’t. Kanaya is looming down on you, the chainsaw held in almost dainty looking hands. Her body is wrapped in rags from head to toe except for where her eyes are.

 

“Move,” Karkat growls as he pulls you through and slams the door shut. You suddenly find yourself with three options. 

 

“This way,” Karkat says and goes forwards. 

 

“Why this way?” you ask as you run.

 

“Any better ideas?” 

The door behind you is wrenched open, clattering to the floor. You don’t look back as you hear her getting closer. He tugs open the door before you and you both run through, slamming it behind you. Inside you find that you’re stuck. The room is nothing but a network of pipes over the walls, with two huge machines near the back with large red lights on them that illuminate the room. Even if you wanted, you wouldn’t be able to use a hole. There aren’t any big enough.

 

“Shit,” he says, and you can barely hear him over the chainsaw. The two of you whirl around when there is a heavy bang on the door. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Karkat says next to you. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

Kanaya kicks the door in with a bang and you feel bile in the back of your throat. She walks in with a rigid saunter, her head turning to look between the two of you. Karkat starts talking almost immediately.

 

“Kanaya, please, fight her,” he yells as she comes forwards. You both step back deeper into the room. Her eyes lock on him and she charges. “Kanaya!” he screams, and then dodges. When she whirls around you find yourself skittering to get out of the way of her weapon. The thing is fucking long.

 

“Kanaya, please,” he begs over the roar. “I know you’re still fucking in there. Look at his clothing.” He points at you. “You cleaned those, you fixed us up. I know you’re still in there. Vriska would never tell you to do that shit.” 

 

The rag covered head tilts and then the chainsaw comes arches with an upswing towards Karkat again. You realize quickly that she couldn’t care less about your presence. She just wants him.

 

“Kanaya,” he yells. “Come on, I don’t want to do this.” He uses a sickle to deflect the saw. Sparks go flying when they connect and you watch the scythe warp between the saw’s teeth. “You’re one of the only ones left, I can’t lose you too!” 

 

You put your flashlight into a loop and take out your hammer. The red light is bright enough that you can see her as a dark shape. On quick feet, you try to run up behind her but she swings around like she knew you were coming. You manage to dodge, but you hit the ground hard. There is no way you’re going to be able to do close combat.

 

Scrambling up, your hands go into your pouch quickly as she goes for Karkat, lunging and swinging. Your look between the one-sided fight and your gun. Karkat lets out a scream when his arm is grazed by the chainsaw, one of his scythes falling to the ground.

 

“Please Kanaya, don’t,” he pleads, his other arm dropping. She’s going to kill him, she is going to fucking kill him.

 

The safety clicks off easily when you raise the gun. “Hey!” Your scream echoes with the revving of the chainsaw. She doesn’t stop. “HEY!” you scream louder, voice going raw. Her hands stutter on the chainsaw and you fire. The shot makes you rock and your ears ring, but you see something dark fly out of her side. Suddenly her attention is all on you.

 

“Oh fuck,” you murmur as she starts coming forwards. 

 

“NO!” Karkat screams as you squeeze the trigger. Each bullet bites into her torso, making her jerk as she comes towards you. When you find that no more bullets are coming, you chuck the gun at her head. It makes contact and she stops with the chainsaw raised as your back pushes into the wall. 

 

Her head is looking down at you, her arms are pulled back, but she isn’t moving.

 

“Kanaya,” Karkat calls to her. 

 

Her head tilts to look over her shoulder. Karkat is holding his arm as he comes forward. “Kanaya, you can beat her,” he says. “You can-”

 

“Kar….kat.” The words are strangled like it is a huge effort for her to speak. 

 

“Yes, yes it’s me,” he says as he comes forwards slowly. “It’s me. See, you can beat her, you can-NO!” 

 

The chainsaw comes down fast, but not how you’re expecting it. It swings in her hands as it comes down and you watch it pierce through her abdomen with a loud wet whirl. 

 

“Kanaya!” fills your ears as Kanaya goes to her knees. Her hands fall and the chainsaw quickly dies without them. “Kanaya,” Karkat is saying over and over as you slide down the wall behind you. “No, Kanaya, why?” He comes forwards and pulls the rags from his friend's face. Her visage is a pale schmeer in the red light, and you pull out your flashlight so you can both see her. Something green is bubbling between her lips.

 

“Kanaya,” he sobs as he cradles her head. She’s looking up at him, eyes half closed as her mouth makes mocking movements of words. One of her hands comes up slow and shaky to rest on his cheek. She smiles. The hand falls.

 

“No, no no no,” Karkat chants as he reaches over and rips the chainsaw out of her with a sickeningly slick noise. “No you don’t, you beat her, you didn’t, you-” his voice breaks as he pulls her more fully in his lap, green dribbling down his body. 

 

You sit very still against the wall. What the fuck just happened? What in the hell? “Karkat?” you ask softly. 

 

“You did this!” rips through the room and it cuts just as badly as the chainsaw could. Your stomach lurches with the need to vomit.

 

“I-I-”

 

“She was in there! I could have gotten to her!” he screams at you. “She was in there!” Karkat lets out a sob. “She was in there.” 

 

He rocks with Kanaya’s head in his lap, fingers holding her tight. You have no idea what to do as you stand. You can’t stay here, though, you know that much.

 

“Karkat,” you say softly. “Karkat, we’ve got to go.” All that noise you just made isn’t going to go unnoticed. You know that much.

 

“Fuck you,” he snaps back.

 

“Karkat, she was going to kill you, I had-”

 

“NO!” he yells and presses his face to her cheek. “She was in there. She did that so she wouldn’t hurt us. We could have gotten to her. I could have gotten to her.”

 

“Karkat, we need to go,” you repeat in earnest as you look down the hall leading to the room. Something doesn’t feel right. Already the hairs on the back of your neck are standing on end and a breeze is blowing. Around you the holes seem to be moving, fingers poking out here and there, but the pipes hold whatever is trying to come out.

 

“You go,” he bites out at you. “Get away from me. I don’t want to fucking look at you!”

 

“Karkat, please,” you beg. Already, you can get phantom whiffs of burnt things and hear bells. 

 

“Leave, John,” he says to you as he holds her body closer. He looks down at her. “Those things are only after you anyways.”

 

You freeze. “What?”

 

He glares at you. “When we split up in the tunnels, they barely followed me. They all turned around and went after _you_.” He spits out the last word like it tastes rotten.

 

“Karkat,” you try again. There is a hard rock in the pit of your stomach and something in your head is screaming at you to run.

 

“Just leave, John,” he says, voice thick. “Go play with your portals. Go find Dave.”

 

A laugh comes down the hall and you know it’s now, or never. You grip your flashlight tight and look at Karkat one more time.

 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly before turning to the door. You grab the gun before you run down the hall where burnt hands are already starting to appear. The torn off door reveals a small horde of creatures coming for you, and you quickly swing right. When you hit the door you turn in time to see them all coming straight for you. Not a single one goes down the other hall. 

 

Slamming the door shut, you give a little sob before you move. In front of you is a staircase and you quickly make your way up. It opens to the first floor and a group of imps. You keep going, legs aching, as you make your way up the stairs. When you run out onto the second floor you hit another set of double doors immediately, and stumble through them. The room you find yourself in is similar to the main room on the first floor. It is large, open, and the front wall is missing, just like downstairs. 

 

“Fuck,” you pant as you look for another door. Off to the side, you see a couple and you sprint for them. You throw one open to what seems to be an office and quickly shut it behind you. As soon as it is closed you can hear things spilling into the larger room. You click the lock and then look around. There are holes all over the walls and none of them are big enough for you.

 

“Oh fuck,” you pant. “Oh fuck.” The recluses are around. They can get in. 

 

_”So you’re the one who’s been fucking up my plans.”_

 

The female voice comes out of nowhere.

 

“What,” you say. “Who’s there?” You can smell burnt dirt and can see things moving in the holes. You quickly run around to the other side of the rusted out desk and climb into the alcove beneath it.

 

 _”I can’t believe you and that weakling Karkat actually broke my hold,”_ the voice continues. 

 

Your breath hitches. “Vriska?” you ask softly. This is not happening. This can’t be happening.

 

 _“Got that on the nose,”_ she says, and you can tell now that she’s in your head. _“You took Kanaya away from me,”_ she tells you. _“I wasn’t done with her yet.”_ A sense of anger fills you and bile rises in the back of your throat. _“I should tear you apart, feed you to these things.”_ Oh god...oh god you’re so fucked. You are- _“But I have shit to do,”_ she adds in a suddenly bored tone. _“So why don’t you just go ahead and take a little nap. I’ll deal with you later.”_

 

“Wa-” Sleep hits you harder than a bullet to the brain. There is no way you can stay awake.  
\---------------

 

_You stand at the top of the U-shaped stairs with wide eyes. At the very bottom, you can hear a groan._

_“John!?” you hear your Daddy and he sounds scared. “John, what was that. Jo-Oh my god.” The words are hushed. “Oh, my god. Mom, MOM!”_

_You grab the banister and hug it close._

_“Yes, yes, I have an emergency. 297 Levin, my mother has fallen down the stairs. Yes, please, hurry. I-I don’t think I can move her.” A second later there are footsteps on the stairs and Daddy comes around the corner._

_“John,” he says, his words breathy. “John, what happened?”_

_“I-I” you start, but you can’t speak._

_“John,” he says. “Tell me what happened.”_

_You start sobbing. “I-It’s not my fault,” you sob. It’s all you can get out._

_“John, what happened. Look at me,” he grabs your shoulders and it hurts. He looks so angry  
and he shakes you a little. You can’t speak with tears in your throat._

_“What happened!” he screams._

_You vomit on your shoes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles* What, there are reasons he hates Dave's joke.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy mother's day, have a chapter.

You wake up much too cold. Slitting your eyes open, you find the room is completely dark behind your shades. Not even your computer screen is lit up. Did the fucking power go out again? The dorms fucking suck. A cold wind ghosts over you, and you shiver. Great, powers out and the window is open. John’s gone polar bear again.

“John,” you call as you roll over to shove your face into the cushion, not caring that your glasses push into the bridge of your nose. His bunk is closer to the windows than your futon. He doesn’t answer. “John, close the fucking window would you?” God you do not want to get up. You feel like hell. Did you two go drinking last night? You’re still wearing your clothes and the bruising feels right, like John tried to be a man and sparred with you again, but you don’t have a headache at least. Maybe John finally learned that your two drink maximum doesn’t mean dump half a bottle of Everclear into each drink.

 

“Dude, come on, it’s freezing,” you call and sit up. The bottom of John’s bunk does not brush against the top of your head.

 

Oh. Oh yeah. Fuck.

 

You turn and push your face back into the lumpy futon and take shallow breaths. A scream sits at the base of your throat, whittling away at the lump that blocks it. With a sharp swallow, you manage to get it back into your belly. 

 

You take a few more deep breaths before words slip from you. “Can’t go under it, can’t go around it, can’t go through it, so fucking get over it,” you whisper as you push up on aching arms and look around the room. 

 

The lower cabin is totally dark with just the barest square of light showing where the steps to the deck are. As you swing your legs over the side of the futon, your feet knock against something and you end up having to sit with your legs crossed. Everything in you aches and your head feels slow, like waking up for a seven am class.

 

“What fucking time is it?” you mutter as you rummage in your pocket to find your phone. When you pull it out and push a button, there is no light. Maybe it shut off? You push the on button and nothing happens. You do it again, and again, and then stop because you’re jabbing at it so hard it fucking hurts. 

 

“Wait,” you mutter as you look at your hand in the dark. When you had been back on the other side of the lake it hadn’t made a single noise around the Jaspers. Hell, it hadn’t even vibrated. Putting it on your leg, you shift until you can get out your flashlight. Turning it on, you set it on your other leg so you can see your phone. You turn the electronic over in your hands, trying to figure out what is wrong with it. Popping open the back, you look inside, and feel your shoulders droop. 

 

“Well shit,” you grumble when you find that the battery looks a bit like a Picasso piece. “Guess it was just too fucking hot in there, huh?” you ask the now useless phone. With a sigh, you shove it back into your pocket. Well, so much for that. 

 

Shivering, you get up, the flashlight helping you pick your way across the broken junk that is strewn across the floor of the boat. You hop around a few puddles near the stairs, and when you look past them, you can see water seeping in at the very back of the boat. Up top, the sound of lapping water and a whipping wind slips into the hull. 

 

“Great, a storm,” you grumble as you get up. While it is true the wind has picked up, it isn’t raining. A small miracle maybe, but you aren’t saying thank you quite yet. Stepping out onto the deck, you look over it with your flashlight. Bullet casings glitter here and there, and puddles of sticky black-red leave windswept patterns on the deck. You cross your arms as much as you can to try and preserve your body heat.

 

“Roxy?” you call tentatively as you look around for her. Without your phone to warn you of what’s coming you don’t want to be too loud. Stepping around a few puddles and chunks of furry flesh, you find her shoe prints staggering out of one of the red puddles. They go off the side of the boat, heels pointed to the edge. 

 

“Shit.” Slowly, you move to look over the edge of the deck, not sure you really want to see whatever may be down there. Roxy’s broken corpse is not waiting for you at the bottom, instead, it is just a rocky beach. Still, you can see where she fell, the stones and sand having been disturbed by a scuffle. There is also blood, lots of it, and you wonder what won that fight. It takes you a second to get down, having to hang off the edge of the deck with shoulders that really don’t like you, but you manage. When you land on sore legs and turn your flashlight groundward, you are relieved to find more of her shoe prints leading away from the scene. 

 

“Alright you crazy bitch,” you murmur as you start to follow her tracks, “Where the hell did you get off to?” Following her isn’t a particularly smart idea, she did almost shoot you, but you can’t bring yourself to abandon the woman. She’s insane, that’s for sure, probably certifiably with the way she jibbers about her daughter. Not that you can blame her. This town could drive anyone to the nut house. “The crazy is in the concrete,” escapes your lips.

 

Her tracks and a trail of blood lead you to a grassy area, and you lose her for a moment. “Shit,” you grumble as you keep walking, light bouncing through the dark and fog. Shouldn’t there be Jasper corpses? You can’t see anything past your circle of light, and all you can hear is the muffled sound of water lapping against the beach as the wind tries to take away your heat. There is no other noise and it puts you on edge as you hear imaginary whispers in your head.

 

You follow spots of blood and shell casings as you move through the cold fog, sometimes having to zig zag or backtrack to find the next one. After a short while, you come to what was once a nice pebble path but is now mostly stripped down to bare mud. You can see Roxy’s heel prints. “Now where did you go?” you ask as you start following Roxy’s tracks. 

 

The sign rises up out of nowhere. ‘Lake View Hotel’ is written in water-stained calligraphy and scratched all to hell. The path you have been following opens up to concrete and with your light, you find that there are four sets of white french doors reflecting back broken fragments of luminescence at you.

 

“Roxy?” you call softly. There is something shiny next to the door on the far left. Walking over, you pick it up. The shell casing is cold between your fingers as you look it over. It looks like the ones on the boat.

 

“Well, at least I know she was here.” You grab the knobs to the far left door and push. Inside, you find yourself in a small cafe area. All along the walls are bottles of drinks, molding sandwiches in their plastic boxes and wrappers, and chip bags scattered about on their shelves and the floor.

 

“Could use something to eat,” you say to yourself in the dark. The sandwiches are fucked all to hell, but you manage to find a couple things of Doritos, a couple juice bottles, and even a sealed bag of cookies to munch on. You sit at one of the tables in the room and you eat. It doesn’t do much to warm you up, the cafe windows and french doors having cracked panes, but there at least isn’t any fog wrapped around you and you’re out of the wind.

 

As you chew on your cookies the rain starts up. A drumming that pushes back the fog a little, making it easier to see out into the small courtyard you came from. There isn’t much to it anymore, but from what your light reveals, you bet it had been a pretty banging garden at one point.

 

“Too bad,” you murmur as you finish the last of your cookies and dust crumbs off your hands. “This place could have been pretty cool. Touristy as hell, but cool.” 

 

Taking off your side bag, you start cleaning house. The notes you found are worthless now and make your hands shake when you catch sight of Gamzee’s jaggedly looping scrawl. You crumple them and throw them to the floor. The apple juice you had left has turned almost muddy in color, and your light doesn’t come through it clear. “Well, now I know what happens when apple juice goes bad,” you grumble as you set it aside. You grab two water bottles to add to the one in your bag and notice some more protein bars. You take three before throwing away your old one. You doubt it fared well in the heat either. Last you pull out your map and Jade’s picture. You quickly tuck her back into the bag before spread out the crinkled pages of the map on the table and try to figure out where the fuck you are.

 

“Alright,” you murmur as you look at the top half of the map. “Gotta be somewhere over...here.” Your finger comes down on the Lakeside Amusement park. Just below it, you find the Lake View Hotel.

 

“Okay, so…” you start to trace the closest road with your finger. “If I go down Stanford and then up Bachnard, I can get up to...fuck. Where was his Nana again?” You stare at the map. “Levin? Yeah, that sounds right.” You fold it back up. “To Levin then. But first…” 

 

You point your light towards the doorway that leads further into the hotel. The glass looks intact, if not a bit dusty. Heaving a sigh you stand, your body feeling a bit better with food and drink in it, but that doesn’t mean you want to do this. You can’t leave Roxy, though. That would be a major dick move.

 

Following the beam from your flashlight, you make your way out of the little cafe and into a hall. Directly in front of you there are doors with the word Lobby scrawled next to them, and to the right of the doors is an old floor sign that has since been knocked over, ‘Venus Tears Bar’ scrawled over it with an arrow. Somehow it is still pointing to a set of stairs. On your right is some sort of restaurant. There are footprints leading into it on the dusty floor.

 

“Roxy?” you call softly as you follow them. You push open the heavy wood doors to the restaurant, and you feel your heart drop a little. Her purse is sitting on a table near the wall, by a large, old piano. There is blood on it, hand prints smeared all over and next to it is a tipped over bottle.

 

“Damn it, Roxy,” you murmur as you go over to it. By the dryness of the blood, it’s been here awhile, a couple hours at least. How long were you out? Scattered around the bag are some snack wrappers, much like the ones you had strewn about. Looking inside the bag you just find a few shells; some miniature drink bottles, all empty; old makeup; and a small pistol. 

 

You pick the thing up between your fingers, and then set it back down almost immediately. Guns are not your thing, never have been. Guns are too impersonal, too quick. They leave too many holes.

 

Looking around the table, you come to the conclusion that she left in a rush. There are chairs pushed to the side, and even more toppled over on the way to a door on the other side of the room. You can even see a few holes in the wall where her rifle hit.

 

From the dryness of the blood, you doubt she’s anywhere even near you anymore. “Well shit,” you murmur as you listen to the rain outside. That’s all you can hear, rain and the wind. You ghost your light around the room again, but there is nothing to see. No smiling Cal faces, feathered horrors, or naking crocodiles. You’re alone and the silence is unsettling.

 

Outside the rain grows harder, though there has yet to be a lightning flash or thunder clap. “Guess I have some time to kill,” you say to the dark room. Like hell you’re going to start walking in this rain. You wouldn’t be able to hear anything trying to sneak up on you out there.

 

Your light turns back to the piano sleeping silently next to you. Maybe you should wake it up.

 

The closest you had been to a piano before moving in with the Egberts was one of Bro’s electric keyboards, not that it ever sounded like an actual piano. He had it electrified and made into a mix of sounds that a piano could never make. Sometimes, though, when he wasn’t making puppet smut, or beating the shit out of you, to teach you his versions of life lessons, he would sit down with you and show you how it worked.

 

You plink your finger down on middle C, and amazingly it doesn’t sound out of tune. The Egberts taught you about tuning, how a piano is really supposed to sound, though you only ever really played one song. It was something silly you had heard Bro plink out before when he was bored or stuck on a song. “F, G, A flat, B flat, A flat, G, F,” you murmur as your fingers find the keys. “F,G, A flat, B flat, A flat, G, F.” You pause and spread out your fingers. “CEG,” you say before pushing down on the cord. You then push down again before going up the scale. The song makes you smile sadly as the music echoes around you. 

 

“Well that’s enough nostalgia for today,” you mutter as you pull away from the piano. Collecting your light, you start to move towards the door. Maybe you can find a secure room to lay down in for a bit. You could do with a little more sleep. The second your fingers touch the doorknob the song you had been playing starts up again. You jerk to a stop and look over. There is someone at the piano.

 

“H-hello?” you call. You can’t see more than a shoulder with the piano lid up. The fabric looks white “Roxy?” No...it can’t be her. Roxy’s shoulders aren’t that...broad. She isn’t that tall.

 

You don’t want to move forwards as the song plays. There is a tick to it, a time. It sounds too familiar that way. “No,” you whisper as you back against the door. The song keeps going, picks up.

 

“Bro?” it croaks out of you. 

 

The music stops but the beat doesn’t. The ticking is back.

 

You chance to look around and already you can see the walls starting to smoke. The lava peeks through at random intervals, dripping down and exposing the cogs beneath the fizzling paint and paper. Outside, it is growing light and the rain isn’t random. When you look out the window you can see it, and it’s not rain falling; rain isn’t smokey and black, like oil.

 

There is a scraping sound against the floor, the piano bench, and something starts to rise. Twin tufts of hair, something orange.

 

The door doesn’t open fast enough as you spin around and run out into the hall.

 

You run for the cafe. Maybe if you get outside it won’t fully change, maybe you can get away. 

 

Sprinting into the cafe, you head right for the exit, but quickly hit your breaks when you see what is going on beyond the concrete. 

 

“Shit,” you bite out as you back away from the windows. Outside you can see the ground, the grass, disappearing. It is falling away, the oily rain causing it to concave downwards into nothing. Out past the concrete, you see the lake and the lake is lava. The hole falls away lake beings to pour into the hole to become a Niagara falls of liquid heat and death.

 

“Front door,” you pant as you spin and sprint from the room. The second you hit the hallway there are needles making a beeline for your body. A few knick you, but you manage to dodge sideways out of the direct line of fire from the series of Cals spilling from the lobby door.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you pant as you run away from them. That turns you back towards the restaurant and you don’t like the way the door is creeping open. Not going that way.

 

Stairs it is then. You rush towards the steps, refusing to look at the thing unfolding into the hallway. There is a door at the bottom and you hit it hard, expect it to give and instead find you have to pull. 

 

A strangled sound escapes your throat as you tear the door open. When you turn to shut it you freeze. You can’t see the full outline of the man at the top of the stairs, but you can see up to his chest, and it is enough to make you let out something akin to a scream this time. You throw the door shut as one of it’s two mismatched legs step forward. One is clad in jeans, the other in some sort of orange striped fabric and a blue shoe. The sound of a sword unsheathing has you scrambling to lock the door. The tumbler turns with an ear tingling screech. 

 

The second it slides into place you turn, ready to run down whatever hallway you’ve come to. Both of your arms pinwheel when you find not a hall, but more stairs. Your hand sends your light bouncing around the spiral staircase before you manage to throw yourself back against the doors. A second thud makes your body shudder as whatever was at the top of the stairs reaches the door. 

 

Breathing hard, you push your back against the door, praying that the lock holds as you stare down the spiral staircase. There is no railing and the stairs area against the wall, leaving the center of the room open as the stairs spiral downwards. The room is filled with the glow of lava as it trickles down the walls in between cogs. There is no sign left of the hotel in here, none at all, and it makes you feel like puking as anxiety runs thick and sludge-like through your veins.

 

“Lil’ man.”

 

You freeze.

 

“Lil’ man, lil’ man, let me come in.” The voice is thick and dry, like the person speaking has dirt in their mouth. You stay silent and scrunch your eyes shut while one hand grips your flashlight tight and the other bites nails into your palm. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” You can hear the smile in it, the twist of lips, and it is worse than anything else. 

 

“Not until I hear a wicked spin.” Nothing about your voice sounds right, not even the sob edging off your tongue.

 

“Then I scritch, and I’ll scratch, and I’ll slice my way in!” 

 

You roll to the side just as the blade shoves between warm metal. Hitting the wall, you keep moving. On shaking legs, you follow the stairs down as you hear metal sliding on metal. 

 

“Lil’ man, Lil’ man where will you go?” The words are a laugh as you follow the spiral down, feet moving as fast as you dare with how much moisture is in your eyes. 

 

You don’t respond to him, you can’t. There is too much jammed up in your throat for you to even consider it, and that thing up there, that isn’t what you think it is. It’s just another creature, like Gamzee, like the crocodiles.

 

Down down, round and round, you feel sick and dizzy but you keep moving. Above you, the sound of metal sliding into metal makes your ears ache as you stay as close to the wall as you can. You’d rather get a seared shoulder then fall headfirst down into the pit. As you go, you find windows, small ones that peek out into the world beyond. The lavafall is outside, maybe a half mile away, filtering down into depths you don’t care to see. The strange rain has stopped.

 

Finally, when the only sound you can hear is your breathing and the ticking, you stop. The metal step you sit on is uncomfortably hot, but you don’t care. You can’t breathe anymore, can’t move. Shaking fingers rip off your shades before you press your head into crossed arms and let out a sob you mean to be a scream. It comes out high and whistling, fighting around the lump that feels like it is permanently attached to your throat. You take a deep breath and do it again. It comes out stronger this time, even more so on the next one. The screams keep coming as tears sizzle onto the steps and your backside starts to burn.

 

“He’s dead,” you finally hear yourself saying with a hoarse voice, the screams having stopped. “He’s dead, his ashes are in your closet for fuck sake. That wasn’t him, it wasn’t-” your voice breaks and a scream comes. It catches at the end and you start coughing. Everything feels raw; your eyes, throat, ass, and heart.

 

“Fuck,” you finally whimpers as you wipe tears away with the heel of your hand. “Fuck.”

 

You can’t stay here. Not just because your butt is going to start sprouting blisters soon, but because he could still be coming. That thing up there could still be stabbing away at the door, finding a way to come in. 

 

The thought of even catching a glimpse of it has you staggering upwards, hands coming out to keep you steady as you look down at the stairs with the last remnants of tears in your eyes. You slip your shades back on and put your flashlight away; there is already enough light to see by. There isn’t enough energy left in your body to do more than plod down the steps, eyes diligently looking through your shades to keep you from miss-stepping. 

 

One of the windows is coming around and you glance out of it. What you see actually makes you pause. A bridge cuts a dark curve above the chasm the lavafalls run down into. Long wires hold it up and disappear up to where you can’t see them.

 

“What the hell?” you ask as you lean forwards just enough to look down. You can see the start of the bridge maybe a few floors below. On slightly quicker feet, you keep moving, checking out the windows as you go. The bridge seems to curve off into a random direction, supported by something unknown as it unwinds out above the lava.

 

By the time you reach it, you still have no idea as to where it might go, though anywhere is better than here. You try and follow it with your eyes, but the bridge curves around the tower you’ve been making your way down. Up close it doesn’t look quite as inviting. While the metal slats aren’t thin, there are still gaps between them, big enough that if you turned your foot sideways you would have a few issues. Like a broken ankle. 

 

“Okay, this isn’t that bad,” you say to yourself. “It’s just like the playground, only instead of John trying to grab my ankles, this thing is trying to break them.” It’s a silly, stupid memory. You and John, two dumb fifteen-year-olds running over a playground bridge while trying to grab the other's ankles. At one point you had tripped John up so bad he had fallen and broken the glasses on a support post. That had been a fun little oops.

 

The train of thought helps you feel a little calmer as you make your way out onto the bridge. Out here the ticking isn’t as prevalent, but you can still hear it. Now and again there are gaps in the lava flow that let you see giant cogs turning underneath, white hot and ever moving. In the air, you can only see the dark sky and the large, white moon. Sometimes you think you might be able to see some sort of shapes up there, maybe whatever is holding up the bridge, but you can never be sure.

 

You watch the slates go by as the heat soaks into you and your breathing comes out in little pants. Pulling out some water, you down it, drinking half a bottle before shoving it back into your side bag. The sword on your hip thunks a little against you as you walk and your feet fall into a rhythm with every other beat while the world ticks around you.

 

“Tick, tick, tick, tick, he swings the sword like it’s a stick,” you start murmuring under your breath as the words join your foot falls. “Tock, tock, tock, tock, watch your ass on the chopping block.” You can smell something like tarmac as you walk and it makes you think of spars on the roof. Well, ass kickings really. You never stood a chance with Bro, not with how hard he could swing. 

 

“Tick, tock, tick, tock, block a hit and it makes you rock.” They were ‘lessons in living’, how to be strong and protect yourself. He taught you how to avoid questions about long sleeves in summer and why you wore shades. “Tock, tick, tock, tick, cuts me deep ‘cuz he’s a pri-” The bridge jerks under you and you stumble, hands going to grip at the supports. Looking up, you find the source of the smell of tarmac. 

 

“Daaaave,” the thing crows at you. The amber gold of its irises glint as it turns its head to look fully at you, the bird's eye blinking. 

 

Your sword comes out shakier than you want but you slide into your stance smoothly enough. Your fingers tighten on the hilt as it comes forwards. “Hey there Polly,” you say softly as the things weirdly human hands reach for you, the tar and feathers on its body shiny in the lava light. “Wanna smacker?” 

 

It lunges right for you and you swing up hard. The sword connects with its head, cleaving it in two from the chin up, though not quite making it all the way through. Its sudden dead weight pulls your arms down as the body starts to fall, your sword stuck in its skull. 

 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you grunt as you stumble forwards, doing your best to not step into one of the cracks. You end up having to step on body parts, and that sends you stumbling even more. The flesh is uneven, sticky, and you find yourself having to let go of your sword to not twist your arm. 

 

The metal is searing against your hands and you get up as fast as you can. There are more tremors on the bridge that tell you that you need your sword. By the time you turn there is already a new bird-bro coming for you. Your hands tug hard at the sword while you shove your foot down on the bird’s skull. It flails, startling you, but you don’t let go. Instead, you yank, and it comes out with a slick slide like pulling apart packaged meat. There is no time to set up your strike and you swing like you’re going for a grand slam. The blade connects with the thing’s neck and its neck releases its hold on the bird bro's head. Your sword keeps moving with your momentum and your eyes watch as it, and the head, sails into one of the strange cords holding up the bridge. 

 

Metal hits metal and it sends a horrific shock up your arm. It’s pure will that keeps you from dropping the sword, though the cracking sound that goes off like a gunshot makes your heart stop. You expect to see the blade split right in half but instead the support snaps. 

 

Training is the only thing that saves your life, as you duck the cord and hear a squawk of pain behind you. You turn to find a bird-bro sliced in half from the snapped cord, the top part already tumbling over the side. 

 

“Daaaave,” you hear above you.

 

You’re done walking. 

 

The bridge under you starts to tremble as more bird-bros fall from up top and you do the only thing you can think of. As you run you start swinging at supports. Every other one you slash, duck, and keep moving. Behind you, there is the groaning of metal and a shotgun of sound goes off without you having to do a damn thing. Then there is another, and another. You stumble, turn sideways, and hit hard. As you scramble up, you watch more of the supports snap and smack into bird-bros, flaying and splitting tar covered skin. 

 

The line closest to you whimpers a warning.

 

“Oh fuck me,” you groan as you sheath your sword and start full on sprinting. The support snaps behind you and all you can do is run over the slats as fast as you can. It’s a constant fight for your eyes to look between the bridge’s slats and where you are going. 

 

It curves again, and while the bridge is shaking under your feet, something akin to relief washes through you when you see something not lava covered. There, dark and solid between one of the falls, is a staircase. You push harder.

 

“Daaave!” you hear screeched behind you. Something whips past your back and you have no idea if it was a support or fingers. That doesn’t matter, what matters is getting off the bridge. Already you’re so close, it’s just a few yards away, two yards, one.

 

You watch the support in front of you snap, duck, stumble, and feel the ground crumbling away. 

 

On instinct you push off the bridge, reach out, and find half of your body on the metal platform that reeks of hot oil. Behind you are screeches of fear. You ignore them as you kick your legs and search for footing while trying you pull yourself up. Your bare hands scramble against the smooth metal, looking for something, anything. 

 

There is nothing, and as you feel yourself start to slip back, you try for one last idea. Both of your hands slam down hard, your forearms push, your shoulders ache, but you get your hips over the side. From there you just have to roll. 

 

“Fuck,” you pants as you look over the side of the metal platform and see the bridge sinking into the lava far below. Like everything else here, the platform is uncomfortably hot, but you can’t move. “Fuck.” 

 

The ticking around you is all that echoes back as you lay heaving in scalding air. You don’t get up until you feel like butter that’s sat on the griddle too long.

 

“Damn,” you murmur when you sit up and look at your forearms. The bandages that had covered them are blackened all along the underside. 

 

Standing is difficult, but you manage. The stairs are even harder and your hands have to come into play to get you all the way up. Still, you get to where you need to go and soon you find yourself on a path that leads to what looks like solid ground; dark, twisted rocks that shine in the heat. It isn’t as interesting as what is set on it.

 

“A fence?” you pant as you reach up to wipe at your eyes. Are you hallucinating? When you bring down your hand you find that no, no you are not, that is indeed twisted iron reaching for the sky and wrapped in chain link. You look past it and your eyes pull out a strangely familiar shape.

 

“Where the hell am I now? CarnEvil?” The ferris wheel rotates in a continuous clockwise motion, the inside of its cars shimmering as if they are filled with magma. Like everything else in this world, it seems to be keeping time.

 

Wait, hadn’t Roxy said something about a ferris wheel? Even if she had, you doubt highly she’ll be at this one. Really, you don’t care where she is right now. At least it doesn’t look like there is any lava in there. Looks like you’re going to a carnival. 

 

There is no way you are getting through that chain link, though, not with your noodle arms, so you walk instead. The rest of the water from one of your bottles is welcomed as you walk over the stone, the temperature cooler than it had been over the lava. It’s almost nice, almost, and when you finish the bottle you toss it into the lava and watch it fizzle out of existence. 

 

The fence goes on for at least a mile before you see the weird gondola looking thing. It reminds you of a bird cage, though a very destroyed one. It half sits on the stone while the rest is melting in the red river. A cord hangs down and you again can’t tell where the supports are coming from. You walk towards it and what you see isn’t a comfort. Dark blue, olive green, and a color in between is burned into the bars and dripped over the stone. Here and there are smatterings of purple and it makes bile rise in your throat. 

 

“I cannot fucking deal with him right now,” you tell yourself as you pause. There is no way, none at all, but from how the stuff is bubbled and baked on, it doesn’t seem fresh. Maybe he’s long gone? A few more steps and you see a couple of other colors that make your stomach heave, though there isn’t as much. Coppery red and muddy brown. 

 

“The hell is that sick fuck doing?” Following the trail around the fence, you find at least part of what he’s doing. The fence indents into an open area of slated stone and twisted metal that may have once been sculptures. They are numerous, a maze, with a single clear path. It leads down to a gate where something is hanging. 

 

You walk through the twisted effigies, picking things out that may have once been animals, or possibly humans. Now they are nothing but unsettling slices of metallic monstrosities, splattered with colors that could be comical under different circumstances. They aren’t your focus, though, the hanging thing is your focus and the closer you get the more you want to look away. 

 

It’s another gray person, a girl you think, and her eyes are wrapped in what may have once been a bandage but it is too soaked through with teal to matter much. Like Aradia and Tavros, she has horns, sharp ones that poke out from either side of her head, and one of them is tinged with purple. Whatever happened, she tried to fight back at least. Around her neck, you can see a rope. It isn’t taunt, but loose, and you realize that the two large, claw-like hands holding her are the only reason she isn’t swinging yet. 

 

The metal hands hold her gray body in place, one on either side. It looks like they are praying, and she is pinched in the middle. From the pinkies of both hands, weight scales sit at about eye level. They seem to be connected to the intense cog work of the door that just barely lets you see through and out into the park.

 

“The fuck,” you wonder aloud as your eyes look around. There is blue and green smeared all over the floor to your right and it says something. It takes you a minute to figure out the writing. It’s is extremely smeared in places, almost to the point you can’t read it. You manage, though.

 

SEE THAT BITCH HANGING ALL UP IN THAT NOOSE?  
you want through then you’ll have to make her swing.  
NO TIME NOW FOR US TO THINK UP A TRUCE  
so give that neck a motherfucking ring.

 

BUT FIRST YOU NEED TO TAKE A LITTLE TEST  
for a fucker like you, it won’t be hard.  
SEE THESE LOW-BLOODS NEED A PERMANENT REST  
and what with death being your calling card

 

YOU SHOULD KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH ALL YOUR HEART  
not that you had one when you killed my bro.  
SO READ MY RIDDLE FROM THE FUCKING START  
see if your think pan can give it a go.

 

YOU TORE MINE OUT WHEN YOU STOPPED TAVBRO’S CLOCK  
but you’ll need two to up and break my lock.

 

You swallow. What the fuck? Hell no, you aren’t going to do that. And low-bloods? The hell is a low-blood? _Who_ the hell is a low-blood? Staring at the words you feel your stomach doing something funny with the water you drank. None of this sounds like a good thing, in fact, it sounds like a very, very bad thing. Put two people to death, find two keys, make the person over the door swing. Wait, does that mean she’s alive?

 

“Hey,” you call out. “Hey, you breathing up there?” There is no response. If she is alive she sure as hell isn’t conscious. Looking down at the floor again you try and figure out where the other two people might be. If you can call them people. People don’t have gray skin and horns or multicolored crayon blood.

 

Stepping around a statute, you follow a smattering of olive green. It outlines large feet and you realize that Gamzee hadn’t dragged whoever this was, he had carried them; let their blood drip to the ground in grotesque geometrics as he took them away.

 

The blood stops at a statue and it makes your stomach clench. There is another person here, another girl maybe, curled into a ball at the foot of a twisted spiral. The ball she’s curled into is anything but natural. Her knees are bent backward, her arms are wrapped behind her back, and something blue and furry is tied around her neck. Around her is a sticky pool of green with smears of purple. Her hands are drenched in purple, and you can see it smeared around her mouth and feet. You wonder if she’s the one who gave Gamzee those wicked cuts on his face. 

 

“Holy god.” The bile in your throat is acidic and grounding. Some makes it to your tongue and you swallow it down. With slow steps, you make your way over to the small body. It takes you a moment to realize she’s not that small. The person is probably just under your height, the strange cone like horns on her head putting her just taller than you. 

 

She looks dead, has to be, and you swallow. So this is one of the low-bloods and Gamzee wasn’t kidding, after what he did she was probably begging to die. Moving closer, you look her over. If your hunch is right, you’ll need her heart. Her clothing is torn and her chest is almost in full view. With a gentle hand, you reach down to pull the cloth a bit further down to fully expose her sternum. The strange ashy gray of her skin segway into a half lump of what might be a breast, through the skin looks anything but soft. You grab some of the cloth, tug to pull it down to see where you can cut and jolt back as the chest expands and a scream rips through the world.

 

Your butt hits the stone hard as the twisted form in front of you screams, the sound high and airy, like she can’t quite get it out right. A roar echoes back behind you, loud and long before it is suddenly choked off.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” you tell her as the scream goes into pained gasps. “I didn’t mean to hurt you I was just-” You were just going to kill her is all. Shove your sword right in her chest and give her that ‘rest’ Gamzee wants you to give her.

“Nepeta,” you hear roared through the strange little maze of metal. It makes you flinch, but the broken body before you tries to turn towards it. Watery green streaks are running down her face as she opens her mouth, gasps trying to come out. She coughs some and tries again.

 

“Hey, hey,” you say as you get closer. “Shhh, don’t talk, you shouldn’t t-”

 

“Equius,” is the only discernible word that comes from her mouth. Her body moves like she is trying to put it back into the right positions but it just leave her sobbing. Somewhere behind you, there is a crying scream that echoes through the metal.

 

“Don’t move,” you tell her as you try to come near. She gives you some sort of hiss that makes you back off before she starts coughing. “Do you want some water?”

 

The look she gives you is untrusting and full of pain as you pull out one of your last two bottles. “Here, look, it’s safe.” You crack the top and pour some in your mouth, swish it around, and swallow. “See.”

 

Her eyes look at the water bottle and a greenish tongue licks at her cracking mouth. Slowly you come forwards, and as carefully as you can, you put some into her mouth. She chokes at first, her body shudders as she coughs, but she opens her mouth for more. You pour out almost the whole bottle before she shakes her head.

 

“Thank you,” she says in a very small voice. 

 

“Hey, least I can do after scaring you,” you tell her, trying to keep the concern and fear from your words. The slight sobbing you hear somewhere is putting you on edge. “I’m Dave, and I’m guessing you’re Nepeta.”

 

She goes to open her mouth. “Just nod,” you tell her. “I don’t think talking is the best idea for you right now.” Hell, nothing is a good idea for her right now. Her body looks more mangled than a slinky that went through a dryer on high heat.

 

She closes her mouth and nods and it makes you sigh in relief as she listens.

 

“The other person screaming, is that Equius?” you ask her

 

She nods again, her eyes looking wet.

 

“Okay, well I’m going to go find him. I’ll be right back.” Slowly, you start to back up and she looks like she’s going to start moving again. “I’m just going to go let him know where you are, see if we can’t get him over here with you. Alright?”

 

Nepeta nods in agreement before closing her eyes. More green ghosts down her face.

 

“Don’t move,” you tell her before you leave. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to go get Equius for other reasons. Seeing her like that is...well you’re not sure you could deal with it for more than a few minutes at a time. It’s like Tavros all over again. It’s not hard to realize you’re not going to be able to do this.

 

Finding Equius is harder than you thought. The constant metal statues makes his voice bounce and when you do finally find him you almost run from the guy. Equius is almost as tall as Gamzee, though instead of being thin he’s nothing but muscle. His body is thick with it, and just from the look of him, you’re positive he could snap you in half. He’s wrapped up tight in large, metal chains, all of which are tied to nearby statues, and you are amazed he hasn’t broken free. Then you see all the blood around his throat and realize why. The chain there is a little different, studded, and with each tug and pull it tightens, cutting off his air and cutting into his neck. If he keeps that up he’s going to kill himself. 

 

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” you say as you get in front of him. His eyes go wide, the irises a brilliant blue, and he tries to lung for you. There is blue dripping from his mouth, throat, and one of his legs. From the knee down it looks twisted and wrong. There is also a sizzling sound and you realize that sweat is running down his gray skin in rivers.

 

“Equius, Equius man, gotta calm down for me.” Your words don’t seem to do anything. 

 

“Who are you? What did you do to her? Where is Nepeta!”

 

“I’m Dave, okay, and just listen for a minute. I’m sorry I scared Nepeta, but I didn’t do anything else. Just scared her. I’m going to try and take you to her, but you have got to calm down. I can’t get you out of those chains if you keep tugging on them.”

 

He tosses his head while you say it, dark hair flipping over two horns, one very much broken. For a moment all you can think is that he looks like a spooked horse. Both of your hands come up and he watches as they stay there, eyes wide as blue drips down his throat. Equius stops moving, sags, and you can hear a rattling breath pull into his lungs.

 

“Please,” he sobs. “Where is she?”

 

“Other side of this place,” you tell him as you look at the statues. How the fuck are you going to do this? The chains wrapped around Equius let him almost sit, his arms able to bend just below the elbow. Both of his hands grip at the chains crisscrossing his chest as his head is pulled upwards by the chain around his throat. The rest of the chains around his legs are just a giant black knot of metal. Right now, short of amputation, you’re not sure if you’re getting him out of this. 

 

“Is she alright?” Everything in his voice sounds as broken as her body is.

 

“She’s...breathing,” is all you can come back with as you walk around him.

 

Equius gives a snarl and you jump back as one of the chains goes taunt. “I should have never trusted that putrid excuse for a high-blood,” Equius growls. “He told me she would be safe as long as I worked his machines, that he would keep us from Vriska’s reach.” The fight goes out of him again as he sags and you try and find some sort of release for these chains.

 

“Aradia tried to help.” Sorrow spikes in the words. “I can’t fathom what lowly, vile punishment he devised for her.” The chains clink together and you realize he is shivering. “She and Terezi came to us, tried to free us, and then the clown came. I thought I could beat him, I thought-” his voice breaks as you tug at some of the chains. “He took Nepeta.” 

 

“Hey,” you say and try to sound soothing, though really worry is shooting through you. The chains are attached to the statues, not tied to them. You would need something hot and strong enough to cut through iron to get through this crap. “He’s the one who fucked up, not you. Don’t blame yourself for getting two-timed.”

 

“But I should have known!” Equius yells into the sweltering world. He stands again and tries to pull with his upper body. You don’t say anything this time since he isn’t quite choking himself, and you doubt you could stop him even if you wanted. “His mind was gone, I could see it, I could feel it, but his fear...the fear.” The strength flows out of him like his sweat. “The fear he forced upon us was nothing compared to seeing him take a club to Nepeta.”

 

“Fear?” you ask as you come around him, looking at the chains on his body instead, seeing if you could possibly just try and slide them off his legs first.

 

“It is his gift,” Equius bites out. “Like Vriska’s control.” 

 

You know that name. “She’s the one who stabbed Tavros, right?” you ask as you tug at a chain around Equius’s good leg. The guy’s so tall you barely have to stoop to do it.

 

“You’ve seen Tavros?” Confusion and distrust lace his words.

 

“I got stuck in the hospital. Tavros...Tavros helped me get out.” You don’t look at him as you say it.

 

“How?” Equius asks, the distrust even more evident. “I never finished his legs.”

 

You stay quiet for a moment. “He wasn’t really breathing when he did it,” you finally say.

 

Equius’s head drops. “Oh. I see.” The two of you stay silent as you try and figure out the network of chains. “Have you seen Aradia?” Equius questions. 

 

You look up at him, let your shades slide down your nose just enough for him to see your eyes, and his blue ones look away. “I had assumed as much,” he murmurs.

 

“She wasn’t afraid,” you tell him as you pull on a few more things. “She stared death right in the face and smiled.”

 

“Sounds like her,” Equius says. “A true wild spirit to the end.”

 

One more tug and you find yourself panting. There is just no way.

 

“It’s alright,” he tells you as he settles into a half sitting position in the chains. “If I can’t break these I knew there was little hope that you could. I know Nepeta is in no shape to break hers.”

 

“Nepeta isn’t in chains,” slips out of you and the look he gives you is horrified.

 

“Sh-she’s not? Then...then that means.” He stands swiftly and pulls forwards with all of his might. “Nepe-” his voice is cut off as blue runs down his chest. 

 

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, the guy is going to kill himself! “Hey, whoa, Equius, come on bud I thought we were done with the asphyxiation thing,” you call. He doesn’t pay attention. “Come on, I’ll figure something out, I’ll-” There is a wrenching noise and you look over to one of the statues. The corner of it has come up.

 

Well, there’s an idea.

 

“Keep pulling,” you tell him as you run over. Unsheathing your sword, you shove it under the thing and push. It makes metal groan, and you can’t tell if it is your sword or the statue, but whatever you’re doing is working. With the leverage of the sword and Equius pulling, you get the statue to bend forwards until it is almost touching Equius, and Equius is able to move forwards a few feet.

 

“Come back,” you call to him. You can see where this chain wraps. Maybe, just maybe this’ll work. 

 

He pulls back, breathing harshly as you follow the chain up his chest and around his legs. You’re able to feed it through the others, giving it slack, and Equius stays still as you do. His sweat actually makes it easier, and in a few moments, he is able to raise up his arms higher than chest height.

 

“Fuck yeah!” you cry as he looks down at you and smiles. “Alright, let's try that one.” You point to a statue that has a lower chain, one Equius can grip. He nods at you, grabs it, and starts to pull. The second you hear the wrenching of metal you get back behind the statue and push, using your sword again to try and gain more leverage. It works and Equius stumbles back when it comes almost completely loose. 

 

“Two more!” you pant at him and there is sweat dripping from you now. The next two statues come up faster with Equius’s new mobility and when the last one fully rips from the floor and flies into another, Equius is able to shed the chains incredibly fast.

 

“Where is Nepeta?” he asks as the last one drops away. 

 

“This way,” you tell him with a pant as you head back towards the gate. You’re not going to be able to backtrack in the maze of sculptures, but you can find the trail again at the front of the gate. 

 

Equius hobbles behind you, using statutes to lean on as his bad leg makes obscene sounds when he puts the slightest amount of weight on it. When you make it to the gate he pauses. 

 

“What?” you ask as he glances at the words and then looks at you. 

 

“Nothing,” he replies as he turns back towards you. “Where is Nepeta?”

 

With a nod you take him through, following the trail until the two of you find her. She’s moved maybe a foot, body almost splayed. “I told you not to move,” comes strangled from your throat. 

 

Her eyes open and a smile much too sweet on a body much too broken bloom. “Equius,” she says.

 

You look up to find that Equius is as still as the statues. One of his hands is gripping so hard to one that you can see blue ringing his fingers. “Nepeta,” he says finally as he comes forwards. With a gentleness you couldn’t fathom, he puts his hands under her. You want to tell him not to, but you don’t think it would matter much. She’s not going to last much longer and if he wants to hold her then you aren’t going to stop him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Purrk up silly.” Her voice is pained, but happy. “It wasn’t fur fault.”

 

“But I-”

 

Nepeta shakes her head in his arms and you find yourself wanting to look away. “Nope. Don’t even try. You fought him tooth and claw. I am purroud of you.”

 

Equius goes to open his mouth, closes it, and you do look away when he gently lays his forehead against hers. Slowly you walk back to the gate, trying not to disturb them as you hear more small murmurs as you go. 

 

Back at the front of the gate you stare at the hands and wonder what the hell you’re going to do now. It’s pretty clear what you’re supposed to do, but like hell if you’re going to do that. Maybe you can find some stones or something; find the balance the godforsaken pinky scales are looking for. You start with some of the items in your pack. The water bottles, the snack bars, your old phone, and the flashlight. You try and pick up other things and think about going and seeing if you can salvage pieces of the statues. You’re just about to leave when you hear uneven footsteps behind you.

 

“Dave.” 

 

Turning around, you find Equius and Nepeta.

 

“Why did you leave?” he asks you.

 

“Thought you two could use some privacy,” you tell them as you go about putting your items away.

 

“We’ve had all we need,” Equius replies as he comes forwards and looks at the doors. His eyes stay focussed on Terezi while Nepeta lays against his body, cradled in one large arm. There is the barest rise and fall of her chest as he holds her. 

 

“May I have your sword?” he asks you and it startles you. 

 

“Huh?” 

 

“When we get this door open I would rather not add Terezi to Gamzee’s body count.” 

 

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Unsheathing your sword you hand him the blade. The hilt looks small in his hand, but he keeps a good hold on it. You watch in awe as he stands as tall as he can, reaches with the sword, and with a gentle accuracy slips it under the noose. The rope comes up and off her neck and then is dropped when it clears her skull.

 

“Nice,” you tell him. “Not sure I could have done that.” You reach for your sword but he does not return it.

“Are you going to fight him?” he asks softly.

 

“What?” The question startles you.

 

“Gamzee.” His voice sounds stony. “Do you plan to fight him?”

 

Something uncomfortable slides into your belly. “Only if it comes down to it,” you tell him. “Was hoping to find my friend and GTFO before I ran into him again.”

 

Equius nods. “I see...and you need to get through this gate to find that friend?”

 

“Hey, why don’t you let me have that sword back,” you reply with. Under the ticking of the world, Nepeta’s breathing isn’t sounding so good.

 

“I couldn’t stop him,” Equius continues as if you said nothing. “And with how I am, with how we are now,” he adds as he looks down at Nepeta. “There is no chance.”

 

“Hey, Equius, big guy. Let’s stop with the pessimism and-”

 

“You were supposed to kill us to get through the door, were you not?”

 

You blanch. “Now why would you think that?” God this isn’t the way you saw this conversation going.

 

“We are the low-bloods, Dave,” Equius replies. “We are the keys, and instead of taking what you needed, you set me free and gave me back Nepeta. Why?”

 

There is no good answer to that, there isn’t, and yet there are also so many to choose from. Finally, you rub a hand through your hair and scrub at it with your nails. 

 

“Because Gamzee’s fucked in the head and I’m not going to play his game,” you tell him. “He wants me to tip his scales then I am going to do it my way.” How your way is going to play out you still don’t know. Maybe these guys have something on them, or Equius could help you break some of the rock into heart sized pieces. 

 

Equius nods in response. He’s still holding the sword. 

 

The ticking fills your ears as the silence creeps in. Wait…

 

“I don’t have much left here without her,” he tells you as he lifts the sword. Nepeta’s chest isn’t raising, her smile is lax, nothing on her is twitching. “And while you do not play by the rules, I am inclined to, even for someone as unworthy as Gamzee.” 

 

“Whoa, whoa Equius! Dude, don’t!” Your sword must be thirsty because it cuts through her chest easily in Equius’s hand. You watch in morbid fascination as he drops the sword while sluggish green drips from her chest. His fingers hover over her sternum and you watch blue drip from his eyes and onto the open wound. With the slightest movement of fingers you hear a snap, a slick sound, and with a gentle grunt he twists and tugs. Nepeta’s body comes with his hand for a moment, but it lays back against his arm a second later. In his fingers sit a green muscle, larger than you had expected.

 

“Here,” he says as he hands it to you. Nothing in you can move. “Take it,” he says as olive green drips from his fingertips. His hands are shaking and yours are just as bad as you reach for it. The heart he hands you is just bigger than your fist, lukewarm compared to the world around you, and slick. Turning to the two scales, you set it in one, wanting to get rid of the heart as quickly as possible. Immediately you start wanting to wipe off your hands but you don’t want to be covered in blood.

 

When you turn back the hilt of your sword is presented to you. 

 

No. Fuck no. You’re not killing anyone else here today. Nope, that’s not going to happen.

 

“Please,” he says as he cradles Nepeta’s body to his chest. 

 

You don’t want to touch that. That was just inside Nepeta that-

 

“Nak nak.” The sound brings a strangled whine from your lips. 

 

Looking past Equius, you can just see the slither of tail before the nakadile disappears into the statues. Others are appearing around the sides; snouts, tails, claws, and the telltale call is growing in frequency even as you look.

 

“Dave.” Equius’s voice is insistent as he pushes the hilt into your chest. You take it, because fuck. Just...fuck. Either you all die or just him now, and you know what one he’s banking on. As much as you hate it, you’re banking on it now too.

 

Your hands are shaking as he sits down in front of you, legs crossed as he holds the smaller body to him.

 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as you push the sword to his chest.

 

“I am as well.” His hand is cooler than the world around you and it shocks you when he sets it on your shoulder. It pulls you forward with more strength than you thought possible. The sword resists at first, but after a moment it bites in, slides in, and in jerking motions you try to cut up and down. Equius makes as little sound possible as you work and behind him you can hear the clack of claws. Panic fills your throat. You can’t get through the rib cage, you can’t get through the fucking rib cage.

 

Yanking the sword out, you drop it and push your hands in past cool flesh. Equius shudders as your hands pull at sword scoured ribs. There is a chorus of naking coming towards you and you need to get away from it. Fingers push in next to your hand, and in a second there is a snap.

 

The thank you doesn’t come, because you aren’t. You don’t want to feel his lungs push against your wrists as you shove past them, the beating heart inside cool and jumping in your hand.

 

“Pull, hard,” Equius gasps into your ear as his head comes down to rest on your shoulder. This is too intimate, this is too wrong. 

 

You pull hard.

 

The heart slips between bone and flesh and thuds in your hand as it speeds up. 

 

“Hurry,” his voice is thick against your neck and your sword is pushed into your hand. It is hard to maneuver, but you managed to get it between you two and rest it on the veins and arteries. You stare at the multi-chamber organ in your hand; watch how it beats and moves. 

 

“You will beat him for us,” he says, not a question, but a statement. “You will, Dave. I can feel it, you, are, strong.” With the last word, his hand helps you push the sword down. Cool blood covers your arms and stomach, soaking into you.

 

The heart is heavy in your hands, so heavy, and as quickly as you can you dump it into the other scale. The nakodiles are coming out of the statues, they are coming for you.

 

The gears on the door tick into life with a pained grinding. They open outwards, pushing towards you. You start to back up.

 

“Catch,” is gasped as the doors part and you remember that you aren’t the only one you’re saving anymore. You stop moving, look up, and prepare yourself to catch the person above you.

 

Terezi is heavy as she falls down into you, almost slamming you to the floor, but you manage to keep your feet and jerk forward on unsteady legs. It is awkward to run with Terezi lolling against you as you try to get away from the naking of the nakodiles, even more so with how slippery she is in your blood-soaked hands. There is a sliding sound of metal and you watch your sword skitter by you. It makes you pause and look over your shoulder.

 

Equius has both hands on either door, and it is causing a grating noise in the gears. They start to stop, smoke, and blood pours from his chest into a pool on the floor. Nepeta’s body is cradled in his legs, and there is barely any green beneath the blue. You think you can see two familiar shadows behind each of his arms, hazy in the heat.

 

“Strong,” you here gasped and his lungs are visible through the gash in his chest. His eyes alight on yours as the nakodiles reach him. “STRONG!” he screams as his hands push. Blood spills down onto the black floor, the gates whine, and you watch as the metal is forced back together with a solid clang. You turn away from the doors as the nakodiles converge and you hear the tearing of flesh and feel tears on your face. 

 

“No,” you hear from down near your chest. In your arms the body moves uncertainly, hands gripping hard.

 

“What?” you’re too stunned to keep the tears out of your voice.

 

“No, not- no,” her hands grip at you as she tries to jerk towards the door. “Equius!” The word rings high and loud. “Nepeta!” The body you hold lets out a strangled sound as she clings to you, nails digging into your arms. 

 

You hold the strange person to you, feel her sob, feel her fight, and finally, the two of you collapse to the ground. You close your eyes as she clings to you and screams, her hands cutting into your bandaged arms. Beneath her voice, you listen to the sound of flesh tearing, the happy naking of nakodiles, and the constant ticking of the world.

 

\-------

 

_“Lil’ man, Lil’ man, let me come in.” Bro’s voice makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can hear him smiling, and smiling isn’t good. Smiling means things are about to go down, more so than when he just leaves notes._

_“Not until I hear a wicked spin,” you call from your desk chair. You hope that he goes for it, that he will switch from ‘teaching’ mode and maybe do something fun. You’d like to learn more about music mixing. It doesn't look like that’s going to happen._

_“Then I scritch, and I’ll scratch, and I’ll slice my way in,” comes instead. You dive for your sword just as he bursts in, his own blade already out._

_You’re barely able to dodge it and a slice nicks your arm. Moving around him as fast as you can, you head for the roof._

_“Lil’ man, Lil’ man where will you go?” There is too much humor in those words as you move and you are scared._

_“To the top of the castle where down we will throw.” The words come gasping as you spin to block a hit that sends you into a wall._

_You don’t make it to the stairs before he has you pinned and a sword to your neck. The dark of your shades is knocked sideways and you hate that he can see how wide your pupils are; how wet._

_“Hey,” Bro says as he taps your shades with the tip of his blade. “What’s this all about.”_

_“I-” you try and start. There is a blur of metal as Bro’s sword slices just over your chest and through the clothing. You feel skin part slightly._

_“There,” he says as he pulls the blade away. “Don’t cry unless you have a reason to.”_

_He disappears then, quick as always, and you lay with your hand on your chest as you listen to a sewing machine whirl. The stickiness of blood is warm through the cloth._

_Getting up, you go to find the first aid kit. You need to get faster and keep your shades in place. If you keep fucking up like this then you’ll never learn his lessons._

_You pass by him to get to the first aid kit._

_“Hey,” he calls as you pull the box down. You respond by looking at him. He doesn’t look up, but you know he can feel you watching him. “You’re getting better with your dodges.”_

_Your chest swells._

_“But you’re still not strong enough.”_

_The bubble in your chest pops and you slink away to clean your wounds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me while I go think about what I've done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Hiatus is OVER! WOO! After doing a full re-edit of chapters 1-13 last year, Chapter 14 is finally done! And yes, you read that right. A full edit! While not much changed, I will say that Jake is instead from the Silent Hill Ranch and was taking refuge in the church/graveyard. So far that's the biggest thing I changed. The rest was mostly editing to make it less of a grammatical disaster and fix a few plotholes. 
> 
> So happy to be writing for this again! I am going to try and do at least a chapter a month, if not bi-weekly until it's done. Only about 6 or seven chapters left! I hope you enjoy this one and the rest to come!

_Behind your father are two white hands. You stare at them wide-eyed as he tries to talk to you._

_‘John, what happened, what did you do?’_

_You open your mouth and try to warn him, to tell him, but the hands are already wrapping around his shoulders and neck._

_His eyes go wide before he is yanked from you and down into the darkness of the stairway._

“Dad!”

The word rings in your ears, and you can’t be sure if it is in your head or if it came out of your mouth. It is, however, followed by pain as you shoot upwards. Light flares behind your eyes and you roll away blindly, hands clutching your skull. 

Using the desk that just assaulted you, you clamber to your feet, body jerking. One hand holds your head, caressing the pulsing lump beneath your fingers. 

The moment you are upright, your stomach decides it doesn't want you to be. The sweet, cardboard flavor of protein bars and the burn of bile coats your throat and tongue as you wretch off to the side. The heaving motion makes your skull ache and your free hand grips hard at the desk to help you stay standing. 

When you are reduced to nothing more than dry heaving, you lay your head and upper torso down on the desk and hug it like a life raft. The rusted metal is chilly, and you gently rest the bump on your forehead against it. 

"Fuck," you wheeze. Your stomach churns like you might hurl again. 

_John, what happened?_

The next wave of retching brings tears as well. You press the knot on your skull into the table and let out a sound you didn't know your lungs could make. It strips your throat until you have to inhale. The next sound is nothing but a sob.

"No, no, no," you tell the metal as you shake. "It was an accident. I-I wouldn't. I didn't..." You push your face down, feel the bite of your glasses on the bridge of your nose and the echoing ache in your skull. "I didn't do it."

You lapse into shuddering sobs as your brain tries to tether you back to reality and your stomach realizes it has nothing else to offer the floor. When you're sure you can stand fully, you brace your hands on the desk. Your eyes feel sticky with tears and sleep gunk. You wipe at them before looking around and find that you're in an office. On one wall there are a couple of cracked and broken windows that show the barest half-light of what could be either the onset of night or the beginning of day. To be honest, you’re not sure which it is, and you don’t really care. Light or dark, this town is hell.

The twilight provides just enough light to see the desk, file cabinets, and an old chair shoved off to the side. You pat at your hip, looking for your flashlight, and for a moment you feel afraid. Ducking your head, you look under the desk and find it laying next to one of the legs. It makes your head spin a little as you bend down to grab it, even more when you stand back up, but it passes quickly and you flick the light on. You pan the beam across the room to look at the file cabinets. A few of them are open with papers sticking out of the drawers at odd angles. On the floor, there are a few torn documents. They are crumpled and scattered, like whoever had torn them had done so in a fit of rage. 

You pick up a piece and find the name ‘Lalonde, Roxy’ scrawled along the top. Glancing around, you look at the other pages on the floor. One looks mostly whole. A good strip of the top half is missing, leaving most of some kind of report behind. You pick it up and begin reading.

_...told that they had found Rose floating at the mouth of the Midwich creek, Roxy became unstable. We are still in the middle of detox, though it is clear that the lawsuit to have Rose removed from her care was all too needed. She has episodes of harsh, intense anger that result in her lashing out at anyone around her, then immediately trying to pull them to her and apologizing._

_Just yesterday, Roxy was found in the children's ward, holding a crying boy and insisting that he was Rose over and over. The fact that the child was male did not change her mind, him having blonde hair seemed to be enough to-_

__The report is cut off by a tear, and you feel sick. So Rose is dead. The knowledge sits in the pit of your stomach. It isn’t a deep mourning, but a mild sense of loss. It’s like when you lost Nana. You had barely known her as well, though more than Rose. You can still remember her face to some extent, but Rose? Well, Rose is just half a memory, and while it is sad, you don’t have any connection left to the girl._ _

__“Sorry, Rose.” You’re not sure why you’re apologizing. There is nothing you could have done for her. You and your father had already moved away and been long gone by the time it had happened. Still, it feels right to verbalize the apology._ _

__The paper flutters from your hand like a dying moth as you turn towards the door. You need to get moving. Even though there are no longer any dark holes in the room, the last thing you want is to get cornered in here by, well, anything. The door to the office grates on its hinges as you push it, the metal already rusty from disuse. Though, with the state that the next room is in, you can guess it has seen its fair share of moisture since the storms._ _

__The upstairs main room is, for the most part, whole. The windows — which are barred from the outside — seem to be the only things damaged, at least severely. Jagged glass still sits in some, though the rest are empty. There are a few couches and chairs in here, and a nurses station in the center. It looks like some sort of dayroom, or maybe a waiting room? You’re not sure, but the fabric on the couches looks damp and even a bit moldy in places._ _

__“Wonder if Roxy ever hung out in here,” you murmur. You can’t remember the woman all that well. If Rose is half a memory then Roxy is a sliver. You think you can remember Roxy watching you and Rose play one. She had been smiling at you both. You had been outside somewhere, splashing and playing near the-_ _

__“Treehouse." The treehouse had been the coolest part of Rose’s house. Well, it’s the only part of the house you can seem to remember. It was like a whole second house, with lights and water, a slide, and it was all powered by the creek. The memory makes you smile and then frown. The creek had been Midwich creek._ _

__“You died in the treehouse.” You feel another pang of displaced sadness and stare out into the room._ _

__Something white on one of the tables catches your eye. Heading over to it, you find a town map, or at least part of one. The bottom half, the area of Silent Hill you had entered from, is missing, along with most of the left side. The rest of it seems to be in usable condition, though there are markings all over it and a few water rings. To the right of the town, in the woods before the amusement park, you can see a circle with a bright red slash through it. It looks nothing like pen._ _

__You touch it and feel something waxy come off on your fingers._ _

__“Lipstick?” You rub it between your fingers as you look over the other markings. There are a few more marks across the upper half, besides the one in the woods. One of them is circling the theater, another the old Midwich Elementary school. The third is around your Nana's house. It too has a slash._ _

__

__“Why come here?” You ask out loud when you find no circle around the sanitarium._ _

__You pick up the map fragment and shove it into your toolbelt bag. You know this half of the town a bit better, but that doesn’t mean much with how much time has past. Going to one of the busted out windows, you look out into the town. The light is coming from behind the building, east, and you realize that it’s sunup._ _

__“Hope Dave stayed put,” you murmur, but you doubt it. He’s probably running around the town looking for you, especially with Jake gone too. You press against the bars of the window to try and see across the lake, but the fog still hangs heavy in spite of the rising sun. Ahead of you and to the sides, it fades to a murky, shimmering darkness._ _

___”Gotta get moving,”_ you tell yourself. _"Sun’ll make the fog worse before it gets better.”__ _

__You manage to escape the sanitarium with minimal effort. The thick walls had done a good job keeping the worst of the weather out, and the lower windows appear reinforced. You creep through the main circular room that you had entered through; your mind convinced that large, white hands are lurking in the gloom to grab you._ _

__Nothing does. Instead, you find yourself feeling almost a little silly when you finally slip out the front door unscathed. At least you would, if not for the very real need to stay on your toes. There are pockmarks in the thick door and stone steps that remind you that there are salamanders lurking nearby. You are still near the lake after all._ _

__With an uneasy glance to your left, you can just barely make out the hulking shadow of the stone fence you had come in under. You stare at it for a moment before turning to the sanitarium's drive. You follow it down between tall trees and long grass that is weighed down by the damp air. The muffled slap of your feet as you walk quickly down the road seems to echoes against the fog. Already you can tell it is getting thicker, the heat of the sun evaporating the dew that has laid dormant on the ground. By mid-day, you hope the fog will thin out, but you don’t get your hopes up._ _

__You come out onto a street, and while you can’t see the name, you know you need to go north; away from the lake. As you walk, you take out the map fragment and squint down at it in the pallid light. It’s thankfully enough to see by, so your flashlight stays in one of your belt loops._ _

__“Arcadia Road,” you murmur. Your eyes trace it upwards, where it becomes Koontz Street, then West Street, and finally Sagan. The road travels over the bridge that connects Central Silent Hill, where you are, and Old Silent Hill, where Nana’s house is._ _

__“Almost there.” You shove the map back into your side bag and keep walking. You are just past the large stone wall of the sanitarium when you hear a wretched groan. You freeze immediately. It sounded close._ _

__Sliding out your hammer, you peer into the fog. To your right is another apartment building from what you can tell. Either that or it’s an office building. With only one door in you can’t be sure, but from the looks of it, you doubt you’d be able to get it open. There are parts of the roof hanging down in front of it and the windows are cracked. They aren’t big windows, but the kinds with wood or metal slits quartering them off. As you scan the panes of glass for possible enemies, your hand instinctively goes to pat your side, but there is no phone there anymore. No warnings._ _

__“Shit.” You take a slight step forward. The groan comes again, louder, and you realize the sound is from beneath your feet._ _

__Looking down, you find that the asphalt is severely cracked, though still mostly flat. You shuffle a little and expect something to start oozing upwards. Instead, your foot sinks a fraction of an inch. Another, more powerful groan rumbles beneath your feet, and it doesn’t stop._ _

__“Fuck!” You jump back as quick as you can just before a chunk of the ground falls in. A hole, darker than the asphalt, gapes up at you. You hear a quiet, dull _plink_ a second later._ _

__“Glub.” The sound is muted, but in the silence you hear it well. A sizzling sound follows it, and the groan from the asphalt intensifies._ _

___”Shit.”_ You don’t stick around to find out just what the salamander is doing. Instead, you put your hammer back in your belt and start to run. Beneath your feet, the road groans and you stumble as another piece collapses under your weight. There is a strange crackling sound behind you, like throwing rocks against an iced-over pond and a brick wall simultaneously. _ _

__Chancing a glance over your shoulder, you find that the road is collapsing; rebar reinforcements and all._ _

__You push your legs, lungs gulping in cold, damp air as you make your way down the road. A snapping sound comes from your left, and you see a large crack shudder down the road and race past you._ _

___”Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-”_ There is no room in your mind besides that mantra of panic as you force yourself to look ahead. It takes every bit of your balance to keep from tumbling as the road beside you starts to collapse. Ahead of you, there is a building. You aim for it. _ _

__Old brick raises before you, a muted red behemoth as you run as fast as you can towards it. The road continues to disappear into jagged lines of darkness._ _

___’Jump, dude.’_ Dave’s voice flashes through your head, and you do so on instinct. The crack that had suddenly opened gapes below you as you sail through the air. You hit the other side and stumble, almost fall, and run on all fours for a moment before you’re able to get your balance back._ _

__You are very close to the building now, close enough that you can tell what you thought were windows are actually posters. For a moment you think you’re fucked, and a strangled sound escapes your throat. Then you see the door to the left, just a few yards away, and it is untouched by the deteriorating road. You sprint for it with a sudden burst of speed only to have the curb attempt to send you sprawling. For a moment you're headed right for the pit to the side, or that the sidewalk will give way and take you down, but instead, you correct yourself just enough that you hit the door and cling to the ornate wood. There is the continual snapping sound as the road tumbles down in the sinkhole opening up behind you._ _

__“Glub. Glub.”_ _

__The door handles rattle under your fists as you shake them._ _

__“Come on!” you yell at them. The doors care little of your plight and continue to stand guard. You turn left and find that the road, and sidewalk, has disappeared right up to the side of the building under what looks like another set of double doors. The dull cement of the basement and foundation looks out between the gap._ _

__“Glub.” The sound of acid eating away at stone whispers in your ears._ _

__“Come on,” you pray as your eyes dart around, hands still tight on the door. The only other thing that hasn’t been swallowed up by the hole is a small alcove with a tiny room jutting from it. The words BOX OFFICE stand out in dull crimson on the board above._ _

__“Keys,” you breathe before jerking towards it. There is no way to get into the room, the tiny, elaborate bars over the windows make sure of that. Still, with a few swings of your hammer, you’re able to make a decent sized hole in the small ticket window to get an arm through._ _

__“Please.” Your left hand pats around in the glass, and you don’t give a shit about the small cuts slicing into your palm. You try and look in between the ornate moldings around the other windows. Both eyes search for anything that looks even remotely key like while your hand moves just out of sight. You hook it as far under the ticketing desk as you can._ _

__Something catches on your pinky and below the ever rising ‘Glub’ you hear a slight jangle of metal._ _

__Heart in your throat, your hand tries to find it again as you lean into the wood and glass, making it crack under your shoulder. The key ring smacks against the back of your hand as you reach just to the side of it. One more grab and you have it, heavy and cold, clutched between your nicked fingers._ _

__Your whole body jerks as you head back to the door, your jacket giving a small tearing sound as it catches on the cracked glass. Thankfully it doesn’t cut you, though you doubt you’d even notice. You’re too busy trying to figure out which key goes into the lock. There aren’t too many, and at least a couple are broken which narrows it down, thank god, but the four left have you nervous enough that you almost fumble them in your haste._ _

__“This one,” you bite out as you find a key that looks more ornate than the others. You shove it into the lock and turn. Immediately your heart goes to your throat as it halts. You try a second time, jiggling it, and thankfully it slides in a little further. This time it catches on the inner mechanisms and the key turns._ _

__The door crackles as you pull it in a few inches. Something catches on it, making it resist, and a wave of cold like nothing you’ve felt so far covers you. But you don’t have time to think. The glubs behind you are getting louder, and any minute there is going to be a heard of salamanders on your ass. You jerk hard on the door once, twice, and the third time the door finally sighs open a good foot or so before the wood catches on something. It’s good enough for you._ _

__Before you sidle inside, you try and jerk the keyring out of the door. You pull too hard and the key ring flies from your fingers. They land about a foot from the door, near the sinkhole._ _

__“Fuck it.” You sidle between the wood. Something makes you slip once you get inside. Thanks to Dave, you find yourself righting yourself quickly. There’s no time to look around as you grab the door and yank it shut. It closes easier than it had opened._ _

__On this side, there is a deadbolt. The metal almost burns as you grip it and try to move it. It both seems to be biting at your fingers and attempting to slip out as you grip it with all your might before it suddenly turns._ _

__You give a yelp as you fall sideways from your momentum. The right side of your body gives a gentle thrum of pain as you run into a wall. It supports you, though, and for a moment you stand against it with your eyes closed and chest heaving. Both of your ears strain as you listen for something, anything, to tell you that the door isn’t going to hold, but you hear nothing._ _

__One of your eyes crack open to look and finds that nothing is happening, at least from what you can tell in the dark. There is no light leaking in around the door, and from how hard it was to open you’re assuming that it’s sturdy enough to stand up to the salamanders. At least for a while. There’s no telling how powerful that acid is._ _

__Something drifts up in front of your face, startling you slightly before you realize it’s your breath._ _

__“What?” Turning around you look around the dark room. It’s too dim to see much, the high windows letting in almost nothing, and you have to pull out your flashlight. The beam cuts through the gloom to reveal a film of ice is covering almost everything. Along the ground is what looks like a slight fog made of ice crystals, though when you shine your light right on it, you can see through. You move the beam to the door you came through and find that there are shards of ice all around it. Immediately, you start looking for dark holes, but there aren’t any. The only strange thing on the walls, besides the ice, is the ivy. Strange, ugly red flowers explode from the dark vines here and there; the petals curled up like the legs of a dead spider._ _

__Tracing the flashlight downwards, you find something that gives you a start. There, in the mist, is a body._ _

_”What’s white and gray and red all over?”_ you ask yourself. A strange, high giggle tries to escape you, and you quickly swallow it down. Whatever the thing on the floor is, it doesn’t seem to hear you. 

__Slowly, you inch towards it. Your eyes work to try and figure out what they are seeing, and the second they do, you wonder if you have anything left to vomit. The carcass of the wolf-like creature is missing its head, which had made it all but impossible to identify from behind. Turning you find another one a little farther off and then past it is something else._ _

__The skin is shiny in your light, almost sticky in a way, and it doesn’t look like ice. You scoot around it and freeze. One large, golden eye is staring up at you. The pupils remind you of something, but you can’t quite figure out what it is. Once you realize there is no life in the things eye, you relax and look at the body again._ _

__“A...frog?” It sounds ridiculous, but that’s what it is. Or at least what it resembles. A long tongue hangs from the mouth, icicles dripping from it, and you can see the barest points of teeth. Coming around the side of it, you find that there is a large chunk blown out of its belly. More ice seems to have poured out of it, almost as if the frog’s innards are what made it. The ice itself appears to be producing the slight mist covering the floor._ _

__“I’ve seen salamanders that can spit acid, why not frogs that can spit ice?” you murmur as you look around again. There is another frog off to the side. Its guts are blown all over a door with a stairs symbol next to it. You walk over and tap at the ice gently. Immediately you shove your hand into your jacket pocket. The ice is so frigid that it feels like dry ice, and just that tap had sent burning cold through the tip of your finger._ _

__“Not going that way.” You turn around, arms crossing to preserve your body heat, and look around some more. There is a set of double doors with the words ‘Main Theater’ printed next to them. To the side of it you can see a small, deep dent. You crane your light and look at it, afraid that it might be a hole opening up, but instead you see something glint. You realize that it is a bullet hole._ _

__“Jake?” You jerk the light up a little as you search for more evidence and find it easy now to spot the multiple holes in the wall. You then turn your light on the floor. It’s hard to find anything on the ground, the mist of ice particles making everything seem to shimmer, but soon you find something that makes your heart sinks. There, on the faded gold and red carpet, is a series of footprints that aren’t yours, and sitting beside them are what look like fingers._ _

___”Can’t be,”_ you try and tell yourself. _”Fingers don’t turn that color.”_ Yet the sickness in your stomach remains as you inch closer. You kneel down, body shivering, and feel your stomach flip-flop. Those are fingers; you can see the nails on the blackened tips and realize that the purple color that permeates through the rest of it is nothing more than frozen blood._ _

__Standing quickly, you turn away from the digits on the floor and head to the theater door. You keep your hand tight on the light. This close to the door frame you can see that the ice layer is broken and the cracks along the door are free._ _

__With chattering teeth, you pull the door open just slightly. The grating sound of ice scraping fills the air, and you hear something in the room beyond._ _

__“Jake?” you call out. You do not need to be shot at again. “Jake, it’s John. You in there?” For a moment there is nothing, and you fear that you’ve just alerted something much worse than a trigger happy old man._ _

__“John?” Jake’s voice sounds tight as it floats through the crack in the door. You take it as a good sign and pull a little more. Light filters through the crack, dim and wavering._ _

__“Yeah, it’s me.” Carefully you step through the gap you’ve made and put your free hand up, showing you’re unarmed. Fire light splashes over the room, and mixed with your flashlight, you can see that it is huge, larger than you had expected, with rows of seats spilling downwards towards a stage. On it, Jake sits with a fire going while wrapped in a huge swath of cloth._ _

__You walk towards him slowly, eyes tracing over the walls as your ears register the slight crackling of the fire.The room is surprisingly beautiful with the ornate moldings covered in the swirls of ice and frost. The chairs are a mix of red fabric and silver streaks. Even the strange red flowers on their choking vines hold a solemn beauty as they trace their way along the walls and crest over chairs before disappearing down beneath the seats._ _

__

__“How did you get in? What’s behind you?” Jake’s demanding questions surprise you into looking back behind you, afraid that there might actually be something there. All you see is the theater door sitting still slightly agape._ _

__“Found the key in the ticket booth,” you call back._ _

__“Did you lock back up?”_ _

__“Of course I did!” You don’t mention that you left the keys outside._ _

__“And the key?”_ _

__“Dropped it in the mist,” you tell him. It’s hard to speak evenly as the gun, which had started to droop, jerks back up to point at your skull. Fuck._ _

__“How can I be sure it’s you and not some other beast come for me? You’re not even wearing the same thing!”_ _

_”If you hadn’t fucking ditched me, then you’d know why,”_ you think. The initial comfort of finding Jake is quickly burning off to anger as the gun stays pointed at you. 

__“Yeah, well after you bolted at the lake I had to find somewhere to go. Ended up in the sanitarium and found some old clothes.” You manage to keep your voice decently steady despite wanting to snap it at him. “Managed to hang onto your old glasses, though.” You point the flashlight at your face as you keep moving forward._ _

__He stares at you, gun still pointed, though he doesn’t shoot. You can’t see him well with the light on your face, but as you get closer he seems to relax, so that’s good at least._ _

__“Jade’s glasses,” Jake croaks. “It is you.” You drop the light and blink away the spots. By the time they are gone Jake has lowered his arm. Some of the tension you had carried into the room fades from your shoulders, and you relax your hands down to your side and click off your flashlight._ _

__“I-I was so scared that they got you,” he stammers, eyes not quite meeting yours._ _

__A cinder of rage burns through your belly, though it isn’t anywhere close to warm enough to stop the shivering that has settled into your bones._ _

__“Yeah, well, you can relax. I made it.” Without the gun pointed at you, it’s harder to keep the venom out of your voice. “Barely,” you add and watch him deflate. There is some satisfaction to it, but at the same time, it just makes you feel like a dick._ _

__“How did you escape?” he asks as you make it to the edge of the stage and pull yourself up. The cuts in your left-hand protest, but only slightly._ _

__“Like I said, I made it to the sanitarium,” you reply as you stand and stride the last few feet to him and then sit. The fire bathes you in a gentle warmth that starts to combat the cold. You stare at it instead of him and watch what looks like set props and costumes burn._ _

__“I see…” Jake looks down at the fire before raising his arm again, you tense, hand going to your hammer as you look at the fabric to see if you can find the barrel of a gun. Instead the fabric is bunched as if he is holding it. “Here.” He shakes it at you gently. “After my cowardice, the least I can do is offer you some warmth.”_ _

__You hesitate only slightly before taking the cloth. With a pull, a substantial portion of whatever Jake is wrapped in comes towards you. _"It’s part of the curtain,”_ you realize as you keep pulling. There is plenty to haul around you without having to take any from Jake, and you settle into the cold cloth as you scoot closer to both Jake and the fire._ _

__“There is no excuse for leaving you,” Jake laments. “It was horrible of me, and I am ashamed of myself. You never break up a hunting party when you’ve become the hunted.”_ _

__An uncomfortable sensation builds in your belly. Part of you wants to tell him that it’s alright, that there hadn’t been much of a choice at the time, but that doesn’t seem right. _”He left me to die. I’m not forgiving him for that just because he feels guilty.”__ _

__“I’m just an old man who is still playing a Great Hunter. Now, look at me.” He lifts his arms under the blanket. “I’ve been reduced to a cowering hermit.”_ _

__“Well it looks like you did okay for yourself in the lobby,” you offer. It’s all the comfort you feel you can provide._ _

__Jake barks a laugh before his hand snakes out from beneath the curtain. It takes you a moment to realize that it even _is_ his hand. It’s missing three fingers: his left pinky, his left ring finger, and his middle finger. The stumps are purple tinged with black. The purple also seems to be spreading into his forefinger and thumb, which are claw-like. You realize they are posed as if he is holding an invisible gun._ _

__“Damn frogs,” he says. “Have you met with the blasted beasts yet?”_ _

__You shake your head. “A frog did that?”_ _

__Jake nods as he pulls his hand back into the blanket. “Their tongues are colder than the Alps. If they touch your flesh, then say goodbye to whatever it may be. Instant frostbite.” He glares at the fire. “One of the bastards out there licked me mid shot, swallowed one of my pistols and ripped off three fingers. I hope he choked on them.”_ _

__John doesn’t have the nerve to tell him that two of his fingers are still sitting out in the lobby as a testament to the frog’s victory._ _

__“I have patches on my legs as well, though they aren’t too bad. Feels like a bad bout of arthritis is all. At least the ones I could bandage. Ran out after I…” he pauses and glances at you and then the fire. “Got here. Thought there might be something here to patch me up, but I didn’t find anything. The bar had been ransacked and anything useful was gone. Bout of bad luck, huh?” He tries to give a smile after that. It doesn’t reach the rest of his face._ _

__“Seems you were able to get yourself cleaned up pretty well.” His eyes drag over you. It’s hard to tell if Jake has a shadow of a sneer on his face with the firelight, but you don’t like how he’s looking at you._ _

__“Sanitarium had a lot of supplies.” It’s not a lie, but you decide to leave out the bit about Karkat and Kanaya._ _

__His eyes brighten. “Do you have anything I could use?”_ _

___”Shit.”_ _ _

__“I don’t think so.” You move to make it look like you’re going through your pack. “I found enough to patch myself up, but the scraps didn’t seem useful enough to ke-”_ _

__“Scraps are ALWAYS useful!” Jake’s bellow takes you by surprise. Your hand again goes for your hammer. “By Christ, how have you been able to survive this long? You must have the largest reserve of dumb luck in the world if you can’t think to keep scraps on hand for later!” Spittle lines his lips as he glares at you with a sneer._ _

__“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you snap. “I barely got fixed up before I was chased all through that hell hole! What was I supposed to do? Stop and ask the monsters to give me a minute to search the cupboards?”_ _

__“Even being hunted my Granddaughter would have done better than you. Would have least brought me something to eat!”_ _

__“Are you bullshitting me right now? You expect me to have something for you after you abandoned me!?” Your hand is tight on the hammer to the point that your finger joints ache._ _

__“I did so because I had to, though that makes me wonder…” He looks back at your pouch. “Maybe you have plenty of items stashed in that bag of yours,” he snaps. “And you just don’t want to share them with the poor old man who ran in fear for his life.”_ _

__“Poor old man my ass, you-” The gun levels at your head. This time the blanket falls to the side, and you see that the barrel belongs to one of the largest pistols you’ve ever seen._ _

__“Jesus, Jake,” you whisper as you lean away. “I don-”_ _

__“Don’t give me that balderdash.” The gun stays leveled at your head. “Now give it here.”_ _

__A snarl covers your face. Both of your hands go to your belt beneath the curtain. One clutches at your belt and grabs whatever you touch first. It’s not the hammer, but it’s still heavy._ _

__“Let me see your hands.”_ _

__With a shrug, the curtain falls off your shoulders and allows Jake to see you work the belt of your side bag. He watches your fingers with greed painting his face._ _

__As soon as you get the belt off, you toss it between the two of you. What’s left of his clawed hand comes out and hooks around the belt. You drop your hand and grip the wrench against your thigh, out of his sight. It’s not a knife or a gun, but you mentally thank whoever had left it with the toolbelt for it._ _

__He pulls the flap up with a crazed grin, and the gun sags some. You watch his eagerness fade as he pokes through the meager smattering of items._ _

__“This is it?” he hisses at you._ _

__“Told you.” You watch him pull out the gun. Even with just two fingers, he somehow manages to get it open and show there are no bullets left. He tosses it back into the bag._ _

__“Stand up.” He jerks his gun upwards to emphasize what he wants you to do._ _

__Gritting your teeth, you do so. You keep the wrench tight in your hand. You know Jake can see it, but he doesn’t seem to care. _”Maybe I can get him in the head,”_ you think as you stand by the fire. Despite its blaze, the cold starts to settle into you again. The jacket does almost nothing to stem it._ _

__“Turn out your pockets.”_ _

__“You’re a crazy asshole; you know that?” Still, you do it. First the jacket, then your front pockets. You never put down the wrench. You even do a little spin so he can see your back pockets._ _

__Jake holds the gun at you for a moment longer before he drops it. Remorse immediately covers his face. “John, my boy, I’m so, so-”_ _

__“Save it.” You take two steps towards him. You bend down and jerk the belt back towards you and start to put it back on._ _

__Jake keeps talking. “It’s the cold, my boy. It’s driving me crazy. It’s in my bones, my brain, I can’t warm up. And the frostbite, I can’t stand it. It burns, it-”_ _

__“Fuck you,” you spit and jerk the belt tight. “You’ve almost killed me twice today, and left me to die the other time.”_ _

__“It’s kill or be killed out here, John, you can’t blame me fo-”_ _

__“Like hell, I can’t!” you yell as you point the wrench at him. It’s not all that threatening, but it’s already in your hand, and it is hefty enough that you’re sure you could do some damage with it. “I could forgive the accidental shot to the ear, maybe even abandoning me at the beach, but this shit?” You’re shivering again, but it’s not from the cold. “This is crazy.”_ _

__Jake’s eyes go from doe wide and pleading to sharp slashes of flint. “Is that what you think?”_ _

__The gun comes back up, and your mouth goes dry._ _

__“You think I’m just some crazy old man?” Jake shifts and begins to stand, his body unfolding like a rusty ladder. “I’ve shot men for less than what you just said.” As he stands and the curtain falls away, you can see the extent of his injuries. His clothing is covered in discolored patches, some of which are torn and let you see blackened pieces of flesh._ _

__You hold your wrench at the ready. Fear spreads through you, but it’s not enough to stem the heat of hate you feel growing for this man. “Were they part of your hunting parties too?” you ask him._ _

___’Keep them talking.’_ You’re not sure if it’s advice from Dave or the many action movies you’ve watched, but you latch onto it._ _

__“I never shot a man unless he deserved it,” Jake replies. There is a tightness in his voice, though, that makes you think he might be lying._ _

__“That’s not what I asked.”_ _

__Jake turns his head, and his glasses reflect back fire. “Only time I shoot my own is when they go rabid on me.”_ _

__“So is that what I am now? Rabid?” You hope that your face is covered in enough shadow that he can’t see your eyes darting around. There has to be a way out of here. Not down the aisles, that’s a death sentence. No place to hide and he’d have a clean shot. You’re too tall to use the seats as cover, and the rows look too narrow to run between._ _

__“No.” Jake lets the gun relax a little. “But I do think you’re dangerous.”_ _

__“You’re the one with the gun.”_ _

__“And it would be best you remember that, lad.” The words are flat, though the threat is clear. If you try anything, you’re dead. Time stretches on as you stand next to the fire, which is eating through the wood quickly. Already the flames are starting to dip._ _

__“Give me the glasses.”_ _

__You can’t stop yourself from giving a slight start. “What?”_ _

__“The glasses,” Jake replies. “You give me the glasses, and I’ll let you go free.”_ _

__“You’re kidding...right?” Why the fuck would he want the glasses?_ _

__Jake holds out the hook of his hand._ _

__A new fear spindles through you. “You can’t take these; I’m practically blind without them. It’s already a small miracle that these are doing as well as they are. You take them and I’m as good as dead.”_ _

__“If you don’t, then you will die for sure.” Jake cocks the gun with his thumb. An unneeded gesture, you know, but it gets the point across. “I don’t want to shoot you, John, but those don’t belong to you. I want them back.”_ _

__“Why?” The word pops out of you as curiosity surges just long enough to take over hate and fear. You think he might just shoot you. Instead, he gives a heavy sigh._ _

__“Sit down, my lad,” he says. “Might as well make our last chat a civil one. I like you, John, truly I do, but if we meet again after this, I will not hesitate to shoot you.”_ _

__You stay standing._ _

__Jake gives no warning before he fires. The bullet grazes your left leg, and you go to your knee with a cry._ _

__“Better.” Jake stays standing above you, gun still pointed._ _

__“Bastard,” you snarl as you push your hand over the wound. It’s not deep, but it still bleeds, and it stains the outside of your jeans. You’re thankful for the bandages wrapped around the calf, if not for them then there would probably be a larger chunk missing._ _

__“I told you about Jade, didn’t I?” he asks as if he hadn’t just shot you._ _

__“Yeah. She's your granddaughter or something.” You keep your eyes on him, watching the pistol stay pointed at your head even as Jake lets his arm come down closer to the side. His gun rests at hip level, and you don’t doubt he can shoot you like that._ _

__He gives a nod. “Yes. I lost Jade when she was very young in a terrible accident. Afterward, I put some of her items around my home, in my boat, and in a few of the buildings on the ranch. Little things to remember her by.” His shoulders slump slightly, though the gun stays firmly put._ _

__“She was all I had left of my family. My daughter died while on a safari holiday with her husband and my wife soon after from a broken heart. Jade was eight.” Jake’s voice starts to get a little thick. “She was the sweetest girl. Smart, adventurous, and an animal lover. Even after her parents died, she could light up the whole ranch.”_ _

__You only half listen as your eyes look around the room. There has to be something you can do to get away from this crazy fuck. Even if you give him the glasses, you’re not sure he’ll actually let you go. If he does, well, like you said; you’re dead anyways. Without the glasses, you won’t be able to see anything past a five-foot radius._ _

__"When the storm came through, I lost almost everything of hers. Everything in the outer buildings for sure. All the items I had put near a window were destroyed as well. Besides the spool of yarn in my pocket, those glasses are all that remain of my precious Granddaughter." He looks at you somewhat mournfully. "Now do you understand why I must have them back?"_ _

__"No, not really." It's a lie of course. Hadn't you done something similar when it came to your father's pipe?_ _

__“John, you don't understand." His voice is mournful. "She was my everything. I never let her out of my sight. Homeschooled her, took her all over the country, taught her about the world like I did her mother, but I made sure she was never alone. I wouldn’t allow what happened to her mother to happen to her; not if I could help it.”_ _

__“Then what happened?”_ _

__Jake’s face goes flat. “I did something stupid. I got her a dog.” He starts to shift a little, his legs jerky in their movements, like it takes a lot of energy to get his knees to bend. The gun stays pointed in your general direction. His shifting is almost enough to distract you from the flash of white you see at the theater entrance. It’s just a flick and then gone, hidden behind the rows of seats._ _

__Jake doesn’t seem to notice as he continues. “That damn dog. ‘Bec’ she named it, after her mother. A pure white husky that I swear had some wolf.” Jake takes a few steps before standing and shifting again, putting the fire between both of you. “I bought it to help me keep an eye on her at night. Keep her in the house. I should have gotten her something smaller,” he muses quietly eyes on the fire._ _

__You glance at him and then out in the auditorium. Out on the left side, the side Jake’s back is to, you see movement. It’s too dark to see what it is, but you can see _something_ slowly stalking its way through the room; a flickering fin of white appears above the seats every so often._ _

__“She did everything with that damn dog.” His voice is ugly in your ears. “Slept with it, bathed with it, and walked it. She walked it every damn day.” He grits his teeth. “Sometimes she’d take it out at night, wouldn’t even wake me, just trounce out of the house as if there weren’t things I needed to protect her from.‘Bec protects me,’ she would tell me. The damn _dog_.” He pauses. “I couldn’t let it put her in danger.” He falls silent, his feet an un-tempoed shuffle across the frosted stage. Jake kicks at the curtain next to him._ _

__After a while, the silence makes you nervous. With the fire between you, dying as it is, it’s hard to see behind Jake’s glasses and tell if he is looking at or past you. Even if he were no longer paying attention to you, if you make a single sound you’re sure he’ll shoot. The gun is still pointed in your general direction. There is a slight noise from the room and you watch Jake turn._ _

__“So you got rid of it?” The question springs from you and pulls his attention back from the theater. You see the fin of white getting closer._ _

__“I wanted to, God I wanted to.” You’re sure he did by the ache in his voice. “But I couldn’t do anything outright. It would have broken her heart if I had given him away. She would have hated me, maybe even tried to run away, and what then? I couldn’t have her hate me, so I came up with an idea.” The fire’s flames drop just enough that you can see the glint of his gun through the twisted metal of burning props. It’s lowered now, still in his hand, still deadly, but lowered._ _

__“I took them both out skeet shooting, just outside of town during the winter. Jade was so excited.” Jake’s voice relaxes a little. “I had bought her a new rifle just for the occasion. Thought maybe I could get her to take a shot at a raccoon or two, but my little Jade loved animals so much that the only thing she would ever even consider would be a tranquilizer. Pitty really, she would have been a fantastic game hunter.”_ _

__Jake looks past you and into some realm only he can see. Behind him you see a figure come around the corner of the seats. You’re expecting a wolf, but what you had thought was solid white is broken up by black. Large eyes catch the fire light for a moment, and it takes everything you have not to react. The eyes stay trained on Jake._ _

__“I was going to shoot that dog.” His voice sounds a little distant like he’s not quite in the room. “Send him after a stick and then shoot it right through the heart and blame it on my old eyes unable to see him in the snow.”_ _

__“So what happened?” Whatever the creature is, it’s almost close enough to see now._ _

__“I…” Jake pauses. The distant look quickly fades. “What are you watching, John? Or did you think I hadn’t noticed?”_ _

__Your heart freezes as the gun comes up._ _

__“Is that you, Dave?” Jake calls without turning. “I’d make an appearance unless you want John to be a few organs short of a set.”_ _

__His face is crazed again with a sharp smile that looks even more dangerous than the gun._ _

__The thing on the ground looks back up, the eyes large and glowing. For a moment you think it might be Dave's sunglasses reflecting the fire, but his shades aren’t entirely round, and why the fuck would Dave be wearing his aviators in a dark room?_ _

__“Grrrrrrandpa.” The sound paralyzes you with shock as you stare at the creature on the floor._ _

__The look on Jake’s face melts into fear faster than the frost around the fire. You feel sick as well as you watch the figure on the ground crouch. The large eyes are still on Jake._ _

__“Jade.” He whirls as the creature springs. A shot goes off and you hear first the creature cry out and then Jake. For a moment you think the monster has hit him, but instead, it stumbles off to the side, a growl in its throat. You can see it now, at least most of it, and it makes you ill. The creature is humanoid, standing on its hind legs, and covered in white fur and tattered clothes; a black skirt that is shredded all the way down to its knees and a long, white sleeved top. There is a hole in the center of the shirt that lets a large tuft of dirty white fur pop out between a nonsensical pattern. You can see a black spot blooming on its upper left shoulder._ _

__What you had thought of as a fin is actually two white ears that grow from the sides of its twisted face. It’s childlike and female, to an extent, but the features are covered in white fur. Her barred teeth are sharp and canine, and the eyes don’t look like they should belong to any creature. They are wide, perfect circles of white that hold green irises like nothing you’ve ever seen. When she shifts in certain ways, they catch the fire and glow like a dog's eyes. They don’t blink as they stare at Jake._ _

__“What the fuck?” you breathe as it takes a step towards you both._ _

__Jake makes another pained sound and your eyes flick to him. He is gripping his left shoulder; his gun and hand push into some unseen wound. Something drips off the firearm's grip._ _

__The creature gives another growl and Jake raises the gun again._ _

__“Back you beast!” He fires. It hits the creature just below the first hole. You watch both it and Jake jerk. They both give howls of pain, and his gun falls from his hand and bounces down into the flames. Another shot goes off, firing above you, and you hear a metallic groan._ _

__You look up as Jake and the creature work to get off the floor before turning your attention skyward. Above you are nothing but shadows and mild glints of metal. There is a snapping noise and you give a scream as something large falls and hits just to the right of you and the sound of shattering glass follows you as you scurry to the side. Another thing, what you realize is a stage light, falls where you had been. High in the theater catwalks you hear things start to snap._ _

__Eyes frantic, you look around in the last of the firelight and find a door near the back of the stage._ _

__“John.” The voice is a pained gasp. “John, help me.” You turn to find Jake backing around the fire, towards the edge of the stage. “I can’t shoot her.”_ _

__“Grrrrandpaaaoooooooo.” The word turned howl gives Jake enough warning to dodge her next attack. She overshoots him as he throws himself to the side, and she goes sprawling into the seats._ _

__“John, please!” he turns to you. The ceiling is still creaking, and more lights smash around you. A sandbag hits the floor, and you hear wood splinter._ _

__“Your hammer, boy,” Jake screams. “Quickly.”_ _

__Your free hand starts to go for the hammer, touches it, and then stops. Jake’s face goes frightened and then angry. “Damn it, John! Do you want to kill me!?”_ _

__The word ‘yes’ aches in your throat, but you swallow it down. Instead, you grip the handle of the wrench._ _

__“Here,” you yell before tossing it. It hits the floor and then skids towards Jake, and you quickly take a few steps back before another light can smash you._ _

__“You bastard,” he screams. “You’ve killed me!”_ _

__“No,” you yell as you duck a bar that has fallen from the catwalks above. “I’m giving you a chance.” You look at him through the criss-cross of falling debris and feel something ugly yet satisfying slither through you. “At least this way, you won’t die for sure.”_ _

__The fire, now growing from the debris falling into it, lets you see the look of shock on his face. You don't expect the shock to fade into a maniacal grin._ _

__“Making the hard calls. You’ll be an adventurer yet, my boy!” he yells. “Maybe even better than me!” He grabs the wrench and stands. You can’t tear your eyes away as you push up against the door behind you, hand pawing for the knob. He gives you a salute, turns, and then disappears as a large chunk of ceiling falls between you. You find the knob, wrench it hard to the side, and stumble back into the room. You land on your ass, eyes still looking through the few gaps in the debris into the theater._ _

__“Jake?” You yell. There is a howl. “JAKE!”_ _

__The ugly feeling is no longer satisfying._ _

__You stand. _‘I can still help,’_ you tell yourself. _‘I can make it. I can-’_ A cool wind blasts against you and sends you toppling. The door slams._ _

__“NO!”_ _

__You’re not sure if the sound that follows is the wind or a distant howl. There isn't any time to think about it as you hear another groan. Outside the door, the theater is falling apart, and whatever chain reaction Jake has started isn't stopping there._ _

__With one last pound on the door, you realize that you can't go back._ _

___"You gave him a shot,"_ you tell yourself. _"Now it's time to save your own ass."_

Directly to your right is another door. You grab the handle and twist. Nothing happens.

"NO!" you roar as you twist it. Around you, the wind continues to whip, warmer than it was before, but it still chills you. Tiles thud to the ground in the tiny area while you try and ram your shoulder into the door. 

"Let. Me. Out!" Nothing. With a strangled cry of frustration you turn. Your stomach falls to your groin. Holes are spreading across the walls. 

"Really!?" You scream. "You have got to be shitting me!" But then you realize that you have just found your way out.

"Please, don’t take me back to the theater," you plead before you run at a hole you can fit through. 

Cold envelopes you, but this time you're able to power through it and land on your feet. You are now in a hallway where the wind is blasting through a set of double doors. It's not hard to tell that your only two choices are the wind or the collapsing building. You head for the doors.

It's hard to fight the gale, but you manage to get through the short hall and out onto, well, a bridge. Immediately you grab at its side railing and cling to it as the wind roars past you. The metal rail keeps you from being swept off into the fog as the building behind you crumbles. 

You start to pull yourself towards the center of the bridge. The further you get the easier it is until the wind suddenly stops and you stumble forward.

You pant as a now gentler breeze whistles past you. It tussles the frost in your hair and cools the sweat on your brow. The crumbling sound follows you and you chance a look.

The entire back of the theater is gone. Beams crisscross here and there; the dark ribcage of a fallen beast.

"Jake?" You call out into the air though you hear no response. _"There's no way he survived that."_

"JAKE!" The wind swallows your words and any possible response you could have received.

Bitter tears bite at your throat and the corners of your eyes. 

_"I abandoned him."_

"I tried to go back," you mutter. "I tried to go back!" The cry is snatched away. You stand with your fists clenched and stare into the decimated structure. Then, all at once, your body relaxes and you lean heavily on the railing. "I tried. That has to count for something, right?"

Your only answer is the wind, and you are glad you can't tell what it is whispering.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —looks at clock— YES! IT IS STILL HALLOWEEN! HAHAHAH! Ahem...enjoy!

You don’t move as you hold onto Terezi. Her cries are slowing becoming deep, shuddering sobs as she keeps a tight hold of you. Your shoulder is damp with tears and the teal of her blood, and you don’t doubt that the wrappings around her face are going to look pretty damn terrifying when you finally look at her. Like a fucked up option in a game where you can turn the blood a random bright color to try and make it less creepy. Yeah, because purple or green blood isn’t as bad as red. Blood is blood, and it’s soaking through your shirt.

With the nakking sounds coming through the door behind you, you want to get up. Maybe you can drag her into one of the structures you see not too far off, but you can’t. Right now you’re her literal shoulder to cry on as you stare out into the hellscape of the theme park. It’s the least you can do because those happy nakking noises are courtesy of the all you can eat buffet that was once her friends; the two ‘lowbloods’ that saved your ass. 

You will never admit it, even in a court of law, but you pull her closer, and it’s not for her comfort. She allows it, but does not stop crying, so you try and give her all the privacy you can —what with the two of you clinging to one another— and look out past her head.

You’re in some sort of entrance area that is nothing more than high, thick walls made of twisted metal. You think there may be faces in the metal, animalistic ones, possibly that damn rabbit that’s supposed to live here, but you can’t be sure. They’re too demented and twisted to be understood.

“I could have saved them,” Terezi whispers into your shoulder, voice a mess of gravel and pain.

“Hey,” you say as gently as you can. “Gamzee fucked them up good. I know you couldn’t see it, but there was nothing you could have done. They were-”

“Screw you,” she bites. “You didn’t know them.” Terezi pushes herself up using your shoulder and stumbles away. “Equius could have ripped Gamzee apart. Limb by fucking limb. But he got to Nepeta, how I’m still not sure, because she was the best damn fighter I new. She could have-”

“He broke her,” you say. She whirls around on you, and shit, you were right. That is one fucking scary mask of blood, snot, and tears. Everything from the cheeks down is bright teal. Her black lips are painted with all three, making her sneer even more horrifying.

“You don’t know anything about her so shut the fuck up. I heard her, to the end she was Nepeta she was-” her breath hitches. “She was _strong_.”

“That’s...that’s not what I meant.” You stand up and fuck she is still slightly taller than you even if she didn’t have the horns. If she goes rabid on ya, then you’re going to need a whole hell of a lot more than your fists. Your eyes dart to your sword.

“I don’t know how Nepeta...was.” The past tense burns in your throat. “I do know she was damn grateful to see Equius again, and I know that she died in his arms, but I could also _see_ the shit Gamzee had done. How he broke her bones.” You pause as you watch Terezi’s shoulders stiffen, her gaze just to the left of you. “There was no coming back from what he did to her, Terezi. I’m sorry. I’m glad you couldn’t see what he-”

“I could smell it.” Her voice is thick. You pause, unsure what to say as you watch her.

“I could smell the death on her. But it wasn’t on Equius; he was still going, he—” Terezi shakes herself. “That bastard could have killed Gamzee with a single punch, and he let you take him down.”

“He didn’t _let_ me do anything.” Your voice is harsh even in your ears, and while you know this probably isn’t the best time to do this, not to the grieving girl who just heard —can still hear— her best friends being eaten. But fuck that. You’ve had enough of hell, and if you’ve got to share it with someone now, then they can have a taste of what you've been through.

“He had me hold that god damn sword while he shoved it through his own chest. He broke his fucking ribs just so he could get you and me out of here, and you’re saying he _let_ me do that?” You feel a bit like socking her. There are quite a few things in this world you’d like to send sprawling on their metaphorical asses actually, so maybe you’re just projecting, but still, hitting something sounds pretty damn fantastic right now. 

“Equius did that himself, but he needed help, and fuck if I was going to just stand there and watch him try and juggle his own harakiri and his dead friend alone. Do you think I wanted to do that? Do you think I like being painted fucking green and blue!” You’re yelling, you know you’re yelling, but fuck it. Keeping your cool in a place that probably doesn’t even know what 'cool' means doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.

“I held his fucking heart in my hands, held Nepeta’s, because they _gave_ them to me. And let me tell you, that is one gift I would love to fucking return, but death doesn’t give out gift receipts. So sorry you were dragged into life's little white elephant exchange, but they got us out of there, so how about we cut the shit and start moving before those nakadiles figure out how to chew through that gate and use us as dessert.” 

Her face is stoney, her hands fisted at her sides, and you think you may have just fucked up any form of truce you could have had. And who would blame her? Not you. That shit was not cool to say, hell, you wouldn’t blame John for leaving your ass after a spiel like that, and as far as the world cares, he’s your brother both on paper and in any other way you can think.

You heave a sigh and push you shades up to press your fingers into the bridge of your nose. “Fuck, I’m-”

“I need a stick.”

“Huh?” 

Terezi puts her hands out tentatively, feet slowly shuffling outwards. 

“I need a stick. I had a cane, but I don’t know what tall dark and pan-dead did with it.”

“Oh. Did you have leg problems or-”

Even without eyes, she gives you a look that clearly says ‘you’re an idiot’ in blaring teal neon.

“I’m blind. Have been for years.” She turns away from you and keeps shuffling outwards.

“Then why would he—”

“Stab my eyes out?” She shrugs. “Insult to injury, trophy, he needed a fucking snack. You can never tell with that guy.” Terezi walks a little further. “You gonna help me out, uh… What’s your name there, cool kid?” 

“Cool ki-” you shake your head. “Dave, my names Dave.”

“Nope, too late, you are now the coolest of kids.” She gives a grin that looks kind of like a shark's. 

“Seriously?”

“What you get for not introducing yourself like a civilized person. Let the jury go to recess without a rebuttal, and they found you guilty of being a ‘cool kid.'”

“Yeah, and why’s that?”

“Because only cool people think that keeping their eye color a secret is cool.”

You pause. “Wait, you can’t see, how can you tell I’m wearing shades?”

“Because I can smell them.” She keeps shuffling away. “Same way I know you’re covered in red blue and green, and that this place is nothing but metal and rock. Can’t tell much besides that. Everything else smells and tastes like oil, and it is _aweful_.”

She bumps into what might have once been a bench.

“You going to help me find something to be my seeing eye stick or are you just going to stand there, cool kid?” 

“Depends, anyway I could make an appeal to the judge and ask her to use my real fucking name?” Usually, you wouldn’t mind being called cool, but there is just something about the way she says it that makes you want to fall into a fighting pose and see if she’d actually try and strife with ya. Could use some time to blow off steam. That or, ya know, take a fucking nap.

Terezi reaches into her pocket and pulls something out.

“Heads or tails.”

“Heads,” you say automatically as you start looking around for something she can tap around with. 

“Alright, heads you’re Dave, tails your Cool kid.” She flips the coin, just high enough that it does a couple of flips, but low enough she can still catch it without any difficulty. 

“What is it?” You ask as you take a few steps forward. She grins.

“How the fuck do I know, I’m _blind_ , Cool kid.” She shoves the coin in her pocket and cackles. You can’t tell if you want to smile or not. You decide fuck it and let it happen. Not like she’ll see it anyways.

There is a small structure just past Terezi, and if you had to guess, it’s probably guest services, at least it would be if this weren’t hell. Then again, maybe Hell does have that. 

_Take a left and two rights to get to the third circle of hell, and don’t forget your knife and fork. Oh, you’re headed to the sixth? Take the two flights of stairs outside of the ferris wheel. Hope you brought a good sunblock! Not that it’s going to help with the fire, but it might cover up the smell of burning flesh._ You try not to snicker at your own thought and somehow manage.

“Let me check over here.” You grab your sword and start to head towards the low building, arm aching gently as you lift the sword and sheath it.

“Unless ‘over here’ isn’t in the vicinity of where we are now, I don’t know where that is, Dave.”

“Hey, you called me Dave.”

“Must have been heads then,” she says without missing a beat.

Okay, so maybe Terezi won’t be a horrible travel companion. You just weren’t expecting to find someone to riff with down here in...eh. You can call this the seventh circle, you decide. God only knows it’s been violent enough, and if the clown is lurking around, then it damn well fits.

“Don’t go wandering,” you tell her in as silly a voice as possible. She sticks her tongue out, her face looking far to the right of you. It’s hard not to snicker.

The inside of the guest services is pretty open. The walls are more like sheet metal lean-tos than actual walls, and the door falls in with barely a shove. It only takes a glance to tell it was already wrenched off of its hinges and just propped within the frame. Hell, if there was a breeze down here it could knock it loose.

“What do we have in here,” you murmur as you look around. It’s not as bright inside, and you push your shades up onto your sweaty brow. There’s all manner of junk in here. Boxes, scrap metal, some sort of stage props. 

“That’ll work.” You pick up the cane, a dragon’s head on top. It looks pretty worn, the red of it fading some. Near it are a couple of boxes with some cloth is hanging out of one. You jerk it open, and low and behold, clothes. You pull out a shirt, maybe a bit big for you, but at least it isn’t covered in blue. It’s a deep burgundy, you think, with a bright red gear in the center. On the back, the word ‘Maintenance’ is printed in flaking letters.

Yanking off your shirt, you toss it aside and pull on the short sleeved maintenance shirt. It’s cooler, if you can call anything cool down here, but it lets you see your arms. 

The bandages are doused in blue, green, and teal blood, black grease, and beneath it all you can see dark spots of your own blood. 

“Need to change these,” you murmur. First, though, you look back in the box. Maybe you can find something for Terezi? Being covered in blue and teal can’t feel all that great. Probably not a great reminder. If there were pants you’d change into those too, but no luck there. At least the worst of it was on your shirt.

You keep digging in the large box and find a few random garments, one of which is bright pink, fuzzy, and has connecting overalls. You shove it away. You don’t want to know where Robbie’s head might be.

At the bottom you find a teal shirt, surprise surprise, with a weird green symbol on it. It looks like a speech bubble with three tails.

“Fortune House,” you read on the back. “Huh, must be one of the attractions.” The things a little worse for wear, but it looks like it might fit her. You take it and the cane out to her.

“Hey, think I found something that’ll work,” you call. Terezi puts her hands out slightly as she waits for the item. Into one of them, you push the cane. “Some sort of prop I think,” you tell her.

She doesn’t seem to hear you as her hand feels over the head of the cane. The smile she gives is broad and just a tad scary.

“I knew he was stupid,” she says as she grips it tight, one hand on the dragon head, other on the cane shaft. “But not that stupid.”

“What do you—”

Quick as can be, she jerks open the cane. A blade slides out of the cane shaft with ease, the metal of it tinged a dull indigo.

“I’m going to plunge this thing right into that rotten think-pan of his,” she murmurs before pushing the blade back in.

Well, at least you know she can defend herself now.

“Uh...I also found you a new shirt.” 

“Really?” She grins again. “You just trying to trick me out of my clothes there, Dave?”

You shake your head and smile. 

“I’d never do that to a lady.” You push the shirt into her free hand. “I won’t watch. Promise.” You know the wink is lost on her, but it still feels good.

“Trusting you,” she replies with a smirk. You turn around and listen to cloth rustle for a few moments. 

“There.”

You turn around and can’t help but snort.

“I put it on backward, didn’t I.”

“Yep, sure did.”

“One sec.”

She pulls her arms in, spins the shirt around, and then pops them back out. It looks like something she’s done quite often. 

“Am I good?”

“You’re good.”

“Ready to go kill a clown?”

“After you m’lady.”

She chuckles. “Blind leading the blind then.” 

With more assurance in her step than you think you’ve ever seen in anyone else, she starts tapping her way towards the shoddy metal buildings that signal the beginning of the actual theme park. 

The two of you walk into what looks like one of the main shopping areas. There are twisted metal buildings, more odd statues that could have once been carnival characters, and a fountain of knotted black steel that slowly oozes thick lava from the spout; greasy black smoke wafts up from it.

“I can’t smell anything,” Terezi grumbles as she taps ahead of herself, her body easily veering away from the heat of the magma. “I swear, if I never smell the color orange again it will be too soon.”

“Looks more red to me,” you reply as you look into the magma. 

Terezi sniffs and then winces. “There’s red in it, but it’s definitely orange. Thank god, too. I don’t know what I would do if this place made me hate my favorite smell.”

“You mean red?”

Terezi nods. “Best smell out there. No matter what those highblooded bastards say.” 

“Okay, what the heck is a highblood?”

Terezi pauses and turns towards you. 

“What are you talking about ‘what’s a highblood’? You’re from Alternia, aren’t you?”

“Alternia?” You have never heard that in your life. “Where is that, Narnia’s sister city?”

“Narnia? Is that where we are?” Terezi asks as she takes a deep sniff through her nose and then coughs a bit. “Because if so, how can you stand to live here? I feel like my horns are going to start sweating.”

“I don’t _live_ here. I don’t even know where _here_ really is. I was hoping you could fill me in on that little bit of information.”

Terezi pauses and turns towards you. Well, okay somewhat towards you. She’s doing that weird not quite looking at you thing that makes you want to check behind you. Realizing she won’t be able to see if you do, you just go for it and assure yourself that the gate is still closed and that the killer-crocs are on the other side of the large fence. How long that will last, you’re not sure. The place is only surrounded by chain link in places, and you doubt that will be a problem for nakodiles that want you dead.

“So you’re not from Alternia, you’re not from Narnia, and you’re not from here?”

“Nope. Last I knew I was in a place called Silent Hill and now I’m here.”

“And Silent Hill is… are you even a troll?”

You’re a bit taken aback. “Do I lo—sound like I’d be munching on the three billy goats gruff?”

“No idea what a billy goat is, but going to take that as a no.” She keeps looking past your shoulder. “Come over here, cool-kid. Let me get a hand on you so I can figure out what I’m dealing with here.”

The idea of letting those Ginsu knives on the ends of her fingers near your face is a little worrying, but if you were in her shoes, you’d probably want to do the same thing. 

“Yeah, sure, just keep it above the belt.”

She lets out a small cackle. “Oh darn, you have thwarted my evil plan.”

It feels good to let out your own snigger and step up to her. Her hands come out and start touching over you quickly, patting your head and face, tracing your ears, and pushing your shades around.

“No horns,” she murmurs, “And you’re so spongy.” She pokes your cheek a bit, thankfully with the pad of her finger and not the claw. 

“Yeah, well I– Hey!” You let out the little cry as she darts in a drags a tongue over your cheek. “The hell was that for?” You scrub at your face with your bandaged forearm. 

“Well, you don’t taste gray,” she replies. “And there is a hint of red in there too. Hmmmm,” she grins. “Whatever you are, Dave, I like ya. Thanks for letting me get a look at ya.”

“Yeah, sure, just don’t lick me again.” Her tongue had felt weirdly cold on your face, and you’re not sure you liked it. Especially not after getting a better glimpse of just how sharp those teeth of hers are. 

“No promises. Might want to figure out where that red smell is coming from.”

“My shirt,” you tell her.

“Your shirt’s on your face?”

“No, I… You know what, just keep walking. Let’s keep this xenomorphic bullshit packed up until we have a place to make up camp for the night before we get to that particular boy scout badge.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“But you’re smiling, so that’s something.”

Terezi doesn’t reply to that, just keeps her grin going while you both make your way around the fountain. The shops around you either have large metal shutters pulled down over the doors and windows, or the shutters look like they were torn into.

“Looks like someone took a can opener to this place,” you grumble as you go up to a doorway. Parts of the door are shredded.

“What is it?” Terezi taps up beside you before tapping at the bottom of the door where it’s still whole. You lift the cane up a little, and she taps again, the tip of the can disappearing into the door. “Do you think Gamzee did this?” She asks you.

“No, it was those fucking nakodiles.” You’ve seen what a Nakodile can do to doors. It looks like there are some already in the park. Great.

“Is that what they’re called?”

“It’s what I call them,” you reply as you lean in a bit. The door is open enough that you can look in. There are shelves all over the place; some toppled, some still up, and covered in pools of sticky slime. With your head inside you can smell burnt sugar.

“I think this was a candy shop.”

Terezi’s head appears next to you, and she sniffs. “Well it’s got sugar, that’s for sure.” She starts pulling back before pausing. “Wait.” She leans in again, sniffing hard. “Come on.”

“Huh?” 

She’s already starting to step through the door; foot headed for a sharp metal shard. 

“Whoa, wait.” You manage to shift her enough to make her miss. “One sec, you’re going to cut yourself on this shit, and I am not the best at stitches.” You step through the door as she gives a huff.

“Everything here is a haze, I hate it,” she grumbles while you try and figure out how to get her through the door. There are so many odd spikes of metal that even you have a hard time getting inside unscathed.

“That makes two of us,” you mutter as you take her arm and pull her through. With gentle and respectful hands, you get her through without a cut or bump. In here, the stagnant air is thick with the burnt sugar smell. It reminds you of the time Mr. Egbert had tried to make homemade caramel and then got a call from the office. He had forgotten about the pot while you and John had sat in the living room playing some game. 

The smell had barely reached your nose before the fire alarm had gone off. You had made it into the kitchen first, feet skidding as you watched black tendrils waft up from the pot. Now that you think about it, the molten caramel had looked a bit like magma. Blackened, glowing, sugary magma.

“What’s in here?” you ask, eyes searching for anything unusual. 

Terezi walks away from you, tapping along the floor and moving with the same ease she had outside. 

“I’m not sure,” she replies. “But if it’s what I think it is, then it means we’re on the right track.”

“Track of what?”

“Gamzee.” 

She taps around a set of shelves that hold singed rabbit dolls and scorched cardboard containers. A few of them have sugary syrups dripping from them in either bright colors or sickly rainbows as their contents inside mix together. 

“He’s not in here, is he?” If he is, you’re fucked. Your sword won’t swing well with all these shelves, and Terezi’s blade, while smaller, won’t be any better off.

“No, I’d be able to smell him if he were.” The disgust in her voice is palpable.

You decide not to ask anything else as you follow her to the back of the shop. There isn’t anything but more pools of sugar. The smell is a bit strange though. It’s not just sugar, but also something like...plastic? Melting plastic? It’s the closest thing you can think of even if you can’t find the source. You almost bump into Terezi when she stops abruptly.

“Thought so,” she mutters as she turns towards what was probably once an ice cream freezer. Through the sooty glass cover, you can see something green and gelatinous; lines of it are caked down the sides of the rusting metal.

“The fuck is that?” You don’t particularly want to open that thing up. You haven’t been having the best time with opening stuff up. Whatever that green goop is, it can stay inside its freezer for all you care.

“Sopor,” Terezi replies as she walks over to the freezer. “Or at least something like it.”

“Sopor?”

“We sleep in it.” 

“You sleep in...slime?” Not the weirdest shit you’ve heard today.

“What do you sleep in?”

“A bed.”

She looks back towards you; an eyebrow cocked above her bloody bandages.

“Forget it.”

Terezi shrugs and steps up to the freezer, her cane letting her know how far back to stand.

“See anything of use around here?”

You look around the two of you. “All I see is a bunch of burned up dolls and some melted candy.”

“What about in the sopor?”

“In the-” you sigh. “Okay, one second.” 

_’Please don’t let there be anything in there,’_ you think to yourself. _’Whatever hellacious deity rules over this place, I’m begging ya, don’t let there be—’_

“Fuck.” You stare down into the thick green liquid. The texture of it warps your vision, but you can still tell that at the bottom of it all is a ring of keys. They are not unlike the ones you found at the hospital, though these look like they might have special color coding; you can’t be sure with how the sopor is messing with your sight. It’s kind of like looking through jello.

“What?” Terezi turns to you expectantly.

“Keys.”

“Why are keys a bad thing?”

“Because I have to reach in and get them,” you grumble. “Unless you-”

“Stopping you right there, cool kid. If I can’t see it, smell it, or tap it, then you have to get it.”

You sigh, “Yep, that’s what I was afraid of.”

The metal of the freezer is warm to the touch, but at least it isn’t scalding. You flip up the door, and the weird, sweet plastic smell hits your nose along with fumes that make your eyes water. Both you and Terezi gag against it. 

“Oh my god,” you cough. “What is this shit made out of?” Without the cover, the additional smell of alcohol is harsh in your nose.

“It’s fermented,” Terezi gasps. “I can’t believe he’s been eating this. No wonder his pan has gone so rotten.”

“Eating?! I thought you said you slept in this shit.”

“Yeah, well Gamzee does both,” she says through the hand clasped over her nose. “Ever since we were grubs he would eat it. The fresh stuff is bad for you, but this?” she motions in the direction of the sopor. “This is practically poison.”

“And I get to shove my hand in it.”

Terezi shrugs. “Sorry.”

“No your not.” God, that smell is horrible. The fumes have both your eyes and nose running.

“Nope,” she replies. Under her hand, you’re pretty sure she’s grinning.

Grumbling a few curses, you turn back to the sopor. This is not going to be fun with the scratches on your forearms. 

“Hold this,” you tell her as you pull off your shirt and hand it to her. “I do _not_ want to smell like this shit for the rest of the day.”

“Is it day?” Terezi asks you as she takes it.

“You know what I mean.” To be honest, you’re not sure if this place even has a day and night cycle. All you’ve seen is the moon.

Turning back to the freezer, you stare into the green depths. You do not want to reach into this guy’s bed slop. It smells too much like Roxy. But, you don’t doubt you’ll need those keys, so it looks like you’re stuck doing it.

You hold your nose with your right hand and take shallow breathes as you move up next to the freezer and tentatively reach in. The sopor is cooler than you expect, not actually cool, though you’re not complaining; you were expecting it to be hot enough to scald. Instead, it’s like reaching into a freshly drawn bath. The sting comes a moment later.

With a hiss of pain, you jerk out your hand and look at your palm. The red blotches where you burned it throb under the green sheen on your skin. Yep, you were right; this is going to hurt.

“You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell her. “Just, if I get this in a cut is it going to kill me?”

“No. It should help it, actually, just burns like...oh. Okay. Now I get it.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Well, no pain no gain.” You reach back into the slime, this time prepared for the sting, and keep pushing your arm down. Itching pain races up your arm as the sopor quickly soaks through your bandages. A few sounds make it through your gritted teeth as you keep reaching in. You’re almost up to your shoulder, body bent over the vat of green, when your fingers finally touch the keys. It hurts to move your hand, but you manage to curl your fingers under the ring and pull your arm out with a jerk.

When it hits the hot air, you make a strangled sound as you drop the keys to the floor. The alcohol vapors that rise from your bandages remind you of the pain lines you’ve seen in comics. They come off your aching, itching arm in waves while you do your best to shake off what you can. 

“Want your shirt?”

“In a minute.” You grab a singed plush doll and rub it over your arm. It gets the worst of the goop off, but it doesn’t stop your bandaged arm from stinging.

“Damn it.” If you take off the bandages, then the cuts will get infect for sure. Leave the bandages on, and you'll have the beautiful burning sensation of a thousand papercuts dipped in lemon juice.

“You okay?” Terezi looks concerned, even if she isn’t quite facing you.

“Yeah, just, this stuff helps you heal, right?”

“Yeah, well, when it’s fresh. I know you can let it ferment a little before throwing it out, but I think it’s just because it becomes too strong to sleep in. I never let mine get more than a few equinoxes old. Otherwise, the smell got to be too much.” She wrinkles her nose.

Well, that kind of makes sense...you think. 

“Okay...well I guess I’m just going to be bitching for a little while.” You scrape off the last of the goo, your forearm still burning like crazy. You glance at your right arm and sigh. This is probably a horrible idea. Clenching your jaw, you shove your right arm in up to the shoulder. It takes a few seconds for the slime to soak into the bandages, but the second it does, you feel the same itching pain of rubbing alcohol in his wounds. As soon as you do, you jerk it out with another hiss.

“What did you just do?” Terezi asks as you quickly scrape the extra sopor off with another doll.

“Something I’m possibly going to regret. Can I have my shirt?”

She holds it out in your general direction, and you tug it on, doing your best not to dampen it too much with your bandages.

“Ready?” she asks you once you’re dressed again and have grabbed the keys from where you dropped them. You were right; each one is a different color, at least the cracked rubber wrapped around the top of each key. The colors are all faded, though, like the alcohol had started to break down the rubber around them. At least they’re clean.

“Ready?”

Clutching the keys in your very sore hand, the two of you head back out into the park, Terezi allowing you to help her out the door again. The heat out here makes your arms itch even worse, but at the same time, it’s kind of nice. As the itching subsides, a numbness starts to settle in as your nerves get used to the sopor.

Across from you is a large, twisted gate. Sooty cameos of animals look at you while Robbie the Rabbit’s split head looks out. At one point the cameo of Robbie would have looked whole when the gates were closed, but with how the right gate doesn’t stand quite right, and how the left has rivers of grease running over it, Robbie looks more like a split face that went through two different hells.

“Well, looks like we know what the keys go to,” you tell Terezi.

“What is it?” she asks as you walk up to it.

“Some sort of gate.” You look it over, and sure enough, there is a keyhole with a colored circle that is just barely noticeable through the grease. It’s either blue or green, and while the sopor has made it a bit hard to tell which is which, it’s not a big deal. 

You have the gate screaming open in one shot.

“Holy shit that’s loud,” Terezi calls out as you shove against the rusted metal. 

“Yeah, well,” you give another grunt. Shouldn’t this shit move easier with all the grease on it? “I don’t think upkeep is at the top of Gamzee’s list.” Another hard shove with your left shoulder and there is a clear path. Well, kind of.

“Oh shit.” A needle goes whistling past you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Hanging from the burnt corpses of trees, you find half a dozen Cals smiling at you. You jump behind the gate just in time to dodge another needle.

“Ow!” You glance over to see Terezi holding a hand over her left forearm. “Dave, the fuck is-”

You dart over and stand in front of her. “Grab the back of my shirt.”

“Guessing I’m not getting an answer,” she murmurs but does as she is told. You have your sword out in front of you, knocking away needles as they fly at the two of you. 

“Later.” You start to walk forward. The nakodiles are still behind you, and you doubt it will be long before they find a way into the park. 

“Anyway I can help?” 

“Stay close,” you grunt. 

The Cals keep shooting needles at you, doing their best to throw them all in different places at once. You do a decent job knocking them away, but your shoulder is still sore as fuck. You knock away another needle with a wince. In that brief second, one of the Cals disappears from the trees.

“Shit, where-” You hear the rustle just before Terezi moves behind you. Glancing back, you see a Cal impaled on the blade of her cane. Her head cocks to the side.

“They’re coming.” 

It’s just enough of a warning for you to block a Cal that flies at you. Terezi moves next to you, face looking at the ground while she swings at one of the Cals in the trees. She is almost spot on with her swing, slicing through the creature's arm. Looks like she doesn’t need as much help as you thought. The next Cal goes down quickly, and Terezi takes out the fourth. The last two retreat back into the tree and start to fire off needles.

“Come on!” You grab her arm and pull her down the pathway. To your left, the corpse of a roller coaster reaches towards the sky while to your right there are hulking, metal brambles. Ahead of you is a house. It’s the best shot you have. 

Terezi keeps up with you as you sprint for it, the Cals following. They stay well above you, swinging from the roller coaster. A needle knicks your neck just as you close in on the house. 

The door handle is hot under your hand and rattles beneath your palm. 

“Damn it,” you bite out. The overhang above the door is at least covering you both, making the needles ineffectual.

“I can still hear them,” Terezi murmurs, her cane blade at the ready.

You flick through the keys. The door to the strange house doesn’t have any indicator as to what color it matches.

“Fuck.” You rattle the door again.

“Dave, we need to keep moving,” Terezi hisses. “We’re about to have more company.”

You look back the way you came. Out past the gate, you see something move. Shit, no going back that way. To your left there is another path, one that ends in a puddle of lava, but there is an area just large enough that you might be able to squeeze around the corner and hide behind the weird brambles.

“Stay close,” you tell her. 

She nods sharply as you take her hand. You give her fingers a squeeze before the two of you take off, her staying close to you as you run for the small patch of magma free concrete. The click of needles hitting stone and metal join your footsteps.

“We’re going to have to sidle,” you pant as you slow down. The path is thinner than you thought, but doable. 

“Going to guess lava because of the heat.”

“Yep.”

“Better than heights, I can at least tell where the hot stuff is.” She gives you a grin as you lead her over. The heat is almost unbearable as you put your back to the metal brambles, your toes already feeling blistered. Immediately you start to move, back as close to the spiked wall as you can while you pull Terezi next to you. She moves effortlessly with her cane tapping behind her against the wall while she walks sideways on the balls of her feet. 

As soon as you are both around the corner, you realize you may have made an error. There is a path here, but not much of one. It only lasts for a few feet before being swallowed up by more lava. 

“Shit.”

“Dead end?”

“Give me a second.” You look around, eyes scanning, and then you see it. There, between the metal bushes, is an opening.

“This way.”

“Whatever you say.” Terezi taps behind you despite the fact that you’re still holding her hand.

The two of you slip between the gap and are immediately met with a two way split. Fuck. 

“Left or right?”

“Should I flip for it?”

“Let’s say you did, left or right?”

Terezi grins. “Left.”

“Left it is.” The metal bushes reach for the sky before intertwining above you, trapping you in a tunnel of thorned metal. It dims the light down quite a bit, but at least the Cals won’t be to get the drop on you. You don’t dare take out your flashlight in case something see you through the bushes.

“We safe?” Terezi asks as you round a corner that immediately becomes a U and you find yourself walking deeper into what you realize is some sort of maze. 

“Is there anywhere safe out here?”

“Touche.” Despite the thickness of the brambles, you can still hear the soft Naks of the Nakodiles as they approach. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have like a sonar or something that would help us get out of this maze would you?”

“Nope, do you?”

“Why would I have a sonar?”

“Why would I?”

“Because you—” you stop and sigh. “Sorry. I thought maybe you had crazy good ears to go along with that nose of yours.”

“Good hearing lets me see through a maze how?”

You sigh. “Okay, yeah, stupid question.” You keep walking. There is a left up ahead, or you can go straight. This time you make the decision and go left. 

“Well, we could always put our hands on the right and just keep going,” she offers.

“Wouldn’t suggest that. The walls are kind of covered in thorns.”

“There are plants?” She sniffs. “I don’t smell them.” 

“More like sculptures of plants.” You take off your shades to get a better look at the metal branches. The branches themselves seem very crude; the thorns are actually just chips in the metal that are bent out at odd angles. They are expertly woven, though, and you can’t see more than one lane over. Still, you’re not sure you want to chance your light just yet.

“Wait.”

“Huh?” You pause and look over at Terezi. She has her nose in the air, sniffing around the two of you.

“I smell purple.”

“Purple?” You look around. It’s too dark to see much of anything but the difference between the stone floor and the brambles.

“Yeah.” She moves towards one of the walls and sniffs.

Tentatively you pull out your light. Placing a hand over the bulb, you spread two fingers so that only a thin beam can escape. Sure enough, there is a smear of purple on some of the thorns. It looks dry.

“You’re right,” you tell her. 

“Gamzee was here.” She starts to walk, nose sniffing. 

“Think you can track him?” You flick off the light.

“Oh, I’ll find him.” Her voice holds so much venom that you almost feel bad for the guy. When she gets a hold of him, you don’t doubt that she’s going to do some damage. 

The two of you lapse into silence for a few moments as she sniffs and taps her way through the maze. A few times you think you’re about to hit a dead end when she will suddenly turn and go through a gap you hadn’t even noticed.

“Tricky place,” you murmur.

“He can be a tricky clown,” she replies. “We all thought he was just a drugged up idiot for the longest time. I don’t think any of us realized just how dangerous he really is until we got here.” She moves around another corner. “Karkat kept him in line for a while, but then Vriska had to go and kill Tavros.” Terezi spits Vriska’s name out with more venom than Gamzee’s.

“Vriska?”

“Our ‘team leader’. Whole reason we’re stuck in this fucking mess.” She turns again. “Thought she could stack the scales in her favor, but she just managed to make the whole game come crumbling down around us.”

“Whoa, wait, game?” 

“Yep. She tried to cheat, and this was our game over.” Terezi gestures to the labyrinth. “I tried to stop her, but by then it was too late.”

“Okay, that’s horrible and everything, but what kind of game were you playing to send you here?” 

She turns her head towards you and cocks it to the side. “You mean you didn’t play Sgrub?”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“Then I guess you got the low side of the scale if you don’t even know how you ended up here.” 

“No shit.” You continue to follow her and her nose through the labyrinth, the two of you lapsing into silence. How the fuck does playing a game land you here? Then again, how you ended up here makes even less sense. At least Terezi seems to understand how she got to this hell hole. Maybe you pulled a _‘Land of the Lost’_ and drove through some sort of rip in time and space and entered the god damn matrix. Only, instead of dinosaurs, you’re dealing with residual trauma and deep-seated phobias. 

“Whoa, wait.” You barely stop Terezi in time. You had almost missed the glint of something in the half-light before she had run right into it.

“What?” 

You move past her and look into the dark. 

“I thought I saw something.”

Pulling out your sword, you slowly extend and lower the blade. At about neck height you find resistance. 

“What the fu-” The resistance snaps and a cacophony explodes around you. Your sword clatters to the ground, unheard, as you clamp your hands around your ears. It sounds like a thousand rubber chickens screaming at once. Why that’s the first thing you think of you’re not sure, but holy shit is it accurate.

“WHAT IS THAT!?” you yell as you look over at Terezi.

“HORNS!”

“WHAT?”

“HO—”

The sound suddenly cuts off, and she goes quiet.

“Hello, Motherfuckers.” The voice echoes above you, sending chills down your spine as you quickly snatch up your sword. “Welcome to my dark carnival.”

There is a click somewhere, and you feel the world shudder. 

You look at Terezi who has her head cocked to the side. 

“What is—” You jerk as something under your foot sinks. The acrid smell of molten rocks steams up as the stone disappears and a deep, glowing red replaces it. “Oh shit.”

“First game of the night. Floor's lava.” He gives a laugh that suddenly cuts off into silence.

“Is what I think is happening, happening?” Terezi asks as she starts to back away from the heat.

“Yep.” 

“Shit.”

“ We should—”

“Run,” she finishes and reaches for you. Red light is filtering in from all around you, illuminating the ground and showing the smears of blood she had been sniffing for.

“Read my mind.” You grab her hand and take the lead.

\----

_”Bro, when can I come out?”_

_“When you can figure out how to get over the lava, lil’man.”_

_You stare at the floor. It is covered in lego pieces, and you have no shoes._

_“But I’m hungry,” you call to him._

_“You’re a smart kid; I know you can figure it out.”_

_You stare at the floor then around your room. Grabbing a pillow, you toss it on the ground._

_“Why’d you go a burn a perfectly good pillow?”_

_You look up and find Bro in the doorway, feet and hands braced against the sides. Cal is hanging around his neck, face peeking over his shoulder._

_“It’s a rock,” you tell him._

_Bro stares at you for a moment._

_“Smart.” He braces hard with his upper body and swings his legs back, pushing them against the wall of the hallway before throwing his weight backward and bracing with his hands. “I’ll allow the pillows.” He wall walks back towards the kitchen._

_It takes you a while to get to the kitchen, what with having to constantly grab your previous pillow to create the bridge, but you make it._

_Even with the floor being lava, the nuggets on the counter are cold by the time you get to them, and not a single french fry is left._

**Author's Note:**

> Game Data Saved


End file.
